


Season 10 fix-its

by fckyeahgallavich



Series: Canon fill-in [9]
Category: Shameless (US), gallavich - Fandom
Genre: 10x05, 10x06, Aftermath of Violence, Angst, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Canon Fill-in, Emotions, Fix-It, Fluff and Smut, Implied Sexual Content, Loneliness, Love, M/M, Missing him, Since Shamey's gonna be stupid, Smut, True Love, going to bed alone, the farewell scene we deserve
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-16
Updated: 2020-07-11
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:48:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 24,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21712507
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fckyeahgallavich/pseuds/fckyeahgallavich
Summary: The farewell scene Shameless SHOULD be giving us, but have stupidly decided not to.
Relationships: Ian Gallagher & Mickey Milkovich, Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich
Series: Canon fill-in [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/854672
Comments: 117
Kudos: 488





	1. 10x03--After FaceTime

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How did the rest of the FaceTime call go and what happened after?  
> Thanks to Leslie for asking for this fill-in, I hope you like it!

“So… How’re we on FaceTime right now?” Lip repeated. Ian continued making faces at his nephew as he answered.

“Mickey. Made a deal with a guard to give me five minutes with a phone.”

“Wow, so I guess that means the two ‘f you ‘re good?” Lip asked. Ian nodded.

“Yeah, I’ve got a meeting with the parole board comin up so I’m probably gettin out of here soon… It kinda sucks but I’m really excited to meet  _ this lil guy!”  _ Ian resumed his sweet voice for the infant who started fidgeting in Lip’s hold.

“Oh, wow! So soon?” Lip asked in surprise.

“Yeah, yeah… Guess arson’s not considered all that violent,” Ian laughed, remembering his friends’ comments from the other day. Lip’s mouth twisted indicating he had no idea what to say to that and Ian just laughed.

“God, he’s beautiful, Lip… Really beautiful,” Ian sighed.

“I know… he’s such a good baby,” Lip agreed. “Already sleepin good and eatin good… Not super fussy…” Ian grinned at the news.

“You sure he’s a Gallagher?” Ian asked. Lip smirked.

“Well… Considering the Tamietti’s aren’t much better I  _ am  _ starting to wonder…” He joked back.

“Wrap it up, Gallagher,” the guard announced from the door. Ian nodded and sighed as he returned his attention to his brother.

“Gotta go?” Lip asked. Ian nodded again. “Well, let me know how the meeting goes and when you need me to pick you up, a’right?” Ian nodded and smiled. “You’re gonna meet this guy soon so don’t do anything stupid to fuck that up, a’right?” Ian’s smile deepened and he nodded again.

“Yeah,” he agreed. “Talk soon, bro,” Ian murmured as the guard appeared in front of him to take the phone back.

Lip gave him a little wave and Ian ended the call, passing the phone back to the officer.

“Thanks,” Ian murmured. The guard said nothing, just tucked the phone back into the envelope and exited their cell, locking it back behind him. Ian waited for Mickey to stand to ask him about the call but he didn’t hear so much as a rustle.

“Mickey?” Ian whispered.

“Yeah,” Mickey replied a little harshly. Ian dropped from his bunk to the floor and whirled around to face his boyfriend, lounging in his bunk with his arms behind his head. He was pressed against the wall, leaving plenty of space for Ian to join him… which he quickly did. As Ian settled on his side, Mickey also turned to his side, using one arm to support his head and resting the other arm in between their bodies.

“I… I don’t even know what to say, Mick,” Ian whispered. Mickey shrugged. “Well, I guess I can start with ‘thank you.’” Mickey nodded.

“It sucks… bein in here an’ missin everything,” Mickey murmured shyly. The “I would know” was left unsaid and yet Ian heard it reverberate between them like an echo.

“Can’t even begin to tell you… He’s beautiful, Mick! And Lip just looks so happy!” Ian beamed at the images ingrained in his brain. Mickey smirked.

“Hasn’t aged from the fuckin insomnia yet?” Mickey teased. Ian shrugged.

“I mean, he looked tired, yeah, but more than that he just looked ridiculously happy.” It’s a feeling Ian remembered when he’d adopted Yevgeny as his son with Mickey, and a feeling he wanted to know again someday… Ian wanted to know Mickey’s thoughts on it but figured now wasn’t exactly the time to ask. Mickey’s eyes held some sadness that hadn’t gone away since Ian first opened the letter from the parole board.

“What’s wrong, Mick?” Ian asked gently. Mickey’s eyes perked up but it was a mask, Ian could see it plain as day.

“Nothin.” It was a lie, Ian knew that.

“C’mon… Tell me,” Ian insisted. Mickey sighed.

“Do I gotta spell it out?” Mickey snipped. 

“You’re the one tellin me to leave,” Ian reminded.

“You  _ should  _ leave,” Mickey agreed. Ian explored Mickey’s conflicted expression for a minute. God… he looked so fuckin sad.

“But you still don’t want me to,” Ian sighed. Mickey bit his lip and closed his eyes before finally shaking his head. Ian reached out and cupped Mickey’s cheek, stroking a gentle thumb across that prominent cheekbone before running the tips of his fingers down the side of his throat and into Mickey’s hand. “I’m gonna miss you too, Mickey,” he breathed. It was almost like a promise… Things were going to be different this time, he  _ needed  _ Mickey to know that! He understood Mickey’s fear of being alone again with Ian mostly free.

“Thank you for doin that for me,” Ian whispered after a long pause filled with them simply watching each other. They did that sometimes. Though Mickey liked to play it tough and downplay the time they had together, writing it off as just banging, they actually did a lot of laughing and simple touching. They’d made every moment of this time they had together count. They’d talked, they’d touched, they’d played… Ian had actually almost managed to forget what had tied them together in the first place: Mickey was his best friend, and they found that again. And that’s also what made leaving again so painful. He was going to, once again, lose his best friend and Mickey was going to lose his.

Mickey sighed and nodded at Ian’s thanks and pulled him in for a kiss. Ian wanted to push it further, to really thank him for the gift, but Mickey pushed back on his chest.

“Better go… Don’t want them cancellin your parole hearing over a fuckin cell violation.” Ian nodded, knowing Mickey was right. He kissed him one more time and reluctantly broke from his partner, climbing into his bunk without another word.

They lay in silence that night, neither one sleeping. Ian knew because he never heard Mickey’s soft snores. And, oddly, Ian had grown so accustomed to those snores that he didn’t think he could sleep without them.


	2. The farewell scene we deserve

As agreed, Ian did not try to throw his parole hearing — though he had secretly considered doing it anyway and just not telling Mickey… But there was something about starting their clean slate (so to speak) with a lie that seemed like bad form. He  _ did  _ want to stay with Mickey. Sure, he obviously wanted to see his family, to be able to eat  _ real  _ food, to read books because he wanted to rather than out of necessity to stave off debilitating boredom — but he wanted all of that  _ with  _ Mickey,  _ for  _ Mickey.

Mickey had made up his mind, though — Ian needed to get the fuck out of this shithole with or without him. And since Mickey’s mind was made up that he needed that for Ian, Ian determined that what he needed for Mickey was to provide for him a stable and easy environment to transition to normal life. If Mickey was demanding that Ian leave, Ian would make it a good thing; he’d have a solid job, be on good terms with his PO, have things sorted out with the Gallaghers long before Mickey’s release to ensure his welcome into their home would be easy and (as much as it could be) pleasant.

Still, both of them deciding all of this didn’t make it any easier the night before Ian was to be released.

They’d tried to sleep in the same bunk several times over the course of their stay together… Until a pissy guard finally threatened that if he caught them one more time they would be separated and could even face sexual harassment charges (though which one the guard would label complaitant and which one defendant, they could never figure out. Still, the threat was enough to warrant following the guard’s stupid fucking rules). But now —  _ fuck him. _

Ian was being released tomorrow and the prison sure as fuck wasn’t going to keep Ian from getting released over a fucking  _ cuddle. _ So they made it count.

There Ian lay on his side, propped by a pillow, with one arm under Mickey’s head and the other resting between them. Mickey mirrored the position and curled his tattooed fingers around Ian’s freckled ones. Though both of their hands were cold, they slowly started warming with the touch. Mickey had draped his blanket over both of them before they’d lain down, so it was truly like they were in their own little world — a warm cocoon for them to just nest and be together for however long they could be.

“You know, I could still stab somebody… get my parole revoked,” Ian joked awkwardly into the quiet.

“Yeah but you fuckin won’t,” Mickey challenged half-heartedly.

“You know I would,” Ian insisted. Mickey’s returning look said ‘cool it, it was a fuckin joke.’ Ian smiled at the sassy tilt of Mickey’s brow and set of his smirk. He was… wow he was going to miss him. Ian clenched his lips together in an attempt to keep from blurting out his thoughts. He wanted Mickey to know how much he was going to miss him, but… Even after all of this time inside together, Mickey just wasn’t the emotional proclamations type of guy. Ian chewed over his words carefully before finally settling on something.

“I’m gonna miss you, Mick… A lot.” Mickey’s face softened at Ian’s admission.

“It'll be over before you know it, no need to go getting emotional over it.” Ian's face fell the slightest bit. He knew Mickey was going to miss him too… He didn't have to say it,Ian knew it already. But considering the circumstances, he did sort of want to hear he'd be missed too. Ian settled his head into the crook of his arm and averted his gaze.

Mickey sighed and removed his hand from Ian's to run his fingers across Ian's cheek and cup his neck. His blue eyes were somehow molten even in the dark as they traced every line of Ian's face. He could feel the intensity of Mickey's gaze as it roved his features and Ian had never felt so  _ seen _ . Mickey seemed to wrestle with himself for a brief moment before finally opening his mouth to speak.

“I’ll miss you too, Gallagher,” he finally admitted. Ian sighed and pressed closer to wrap his arm over Mickey’s hip and bring their faces closer to each other for a kiss.

Still ‘Gallagher’… Always ‘Gallagher’ when Mickey was trying to act unaffected. Ian knew he was officially being greedy, but he couldn't help but want to hear his  _ name  _ from Mickey's mouth. He had the impression that Mickey was purposefully avoiding being too sentimental to avoid the intense feelings he was probably fighting (If Ian's own feelings were anything to judge by). But Ian could understand Mickey needing to keep some feelings to the vest. They were about to say goodbye again and though things were different this time around, this was also an all-too familiar event for Mickey, being left behind.

Ian met Mickey’s eyes before flicking them lower to focus on Mickey’s mouth. The plump bottom lip twitched as Mickey fought a smile, inspiring a full smile of Ian’s before he finally closed the distance between them and kissed Mickey softly. Mickey’s fingers tightened around the back of his neck as though to pull him even closer. Ian pressed his fingers against the curve of Mickey’s hip, drawing him closer. Soon, with how much they continued pulling on each other and how they kept pressing closer and closer to each other, there wasn’t space for even a breath of air between their bodies, melded together. Ian kept his weight on his elbow, ever so slightly covering Mickey’s body with his. Mickey’s fingers scratched gently behind the shell of Ian’s ear, somehow demanding that he sink even deeper into their kiss though there was nowhere for him to go.

Ian broke the kiss first, resting his forehead against Mickey’s, eyes closed as he absorbed their warmth, appreciated the flutter of sadness but also pure joy circling around his chest.

“I’m going to visit you, you know that right?” Ian murmured into the still quiet of their cell. He heard the slight pop of Mickey’s mouth opening to respond, but the older man never said anything in response. Ian opened his eyes, lifting his face away so he could look Mickey straight in the eye.

“I am. I promise.” Mickey’s eyes searched Ian’s and he allowed him to do so — whatever he had to do to accept that what Ian was saying was true.

“Don’t kill yourself gettin here or anythin —”

“As often as I can, Mick. I promise you that. I dunno how much that’ll mean since I’ll be workin and shit, but… I promise you I will visit —” He had to cut himself off from saying ‘this time.’ It was right at the tip of his tongue and he hated so fucking much that it was a legitimate thing for Mickey to fear, that Ian wouldn’t visit… Because he’d already done it to him before. It was why Mickey wanted him to stay in prison with him, so their time apart would be as minimal as possible. But now, Ian was being released so far in advance… who knew when Mickey’d be out? The thought scared Ian too. Prison does shit to a person, and he now had first hand knowledge of how shitty this place was. He wanted to pick Mickey up and run him as far away from this fuckin place as possible.

Damn him, tears started welling up. He already knew he didn’t want to leave Mickey behind… For  _ so many reasons  _ he didn’t want to leave Mickey in here by himself. He squeezed his eyes shut and returned his lips to the best place, pressed against Mickey’s. Mickey’s fingers raked through the back of Ian’s hair, pulling him in as they kissed openly. Each pass of their lips brought them closer and also incited a rise in heat between them.

Mickey sighed, tipping his head down to bump ever so gently against Ian’s nose as he caught his breath and Ian pressed his hips down against Mickey’s, dragging out another breathy sigh. Mickey’s eyes fluttered open and he looked up at Ian with a lot more emotion than Ian was sure the other man wanted to convey. But there were so few emotions that Mickey couldn’t hide from Ian… even when he tried.

Mickey’d tossed out their, uhm… “lube” over a week ago. So Ian trailed gentle fingers down Mickey’s chest, abdomen, dipping under the waistband of his boxers to wrap solidly around the girth of him. Mickey exhaled through his nose and adjusted himself under Ian, legs spreading for easier access to all of him. 

They couldn’t go all the way, but they loved each other anyway. Touch and mouths and gripping fingers and sweet but solid caresses connected them through the night. Though Ian truly wanted the full thing, and he knew Mickey did too, they nonetheless did what they could to please each other on their last night together.

They both fought emotions, choosing instead to bask in their freedom to spend the night  _ together  _ for the first time in a long, long while.

“I love you,” Ian murmured, only to realize that Mickey had said it at the same time. They both smiled, huffing out quiet laughter, and settled in for the night. At some point just as Ian was on the brink of unconsciousness, Mickey flipped over pressed himself as far back into Ian’s curve as he could — Ian’s arm wrapped instinctually around Mickey’s waist and dragged him even closer.

Mickey didn’t sleep much that night. Though he trusted that Ian believed his words, and Mickey wanted to believe them too, there was still a part of him, a sadly large part, that was afraid to fall asleep because he wanted to soak up what might be the last time he ever got to spoon with the love of his life.

//////

Ian was released early the next morning. They stayed in bed the entire night together and, despite complaints from the guard who came to retrieve him, Ian kissed him one last time before standing up to slide his uniform on one more time. Ian turned back to look at Mickey from the door… He was standing so shyly… Face looking down to the floor, not quite at his shoes, and clearly trying to focus on anything else than Ian leaving.

Ian surged forward and kissed Mickey one last time, hard and desperate. When he pulled away, he demanded with an assertive hand that Mickey look him in the eye. 

“I’ll visit. I’ll write. You call and I will pick up  _ whenever I can.  _ I’m —” He choked on his guilt and desperation for Mickey to really absorb this. Mickey swallowed hard and cooly readjusted the collar of Ian’s uniform, a nervous tic. 

“I know.” His confidence shocked them both. “I love you, Ian,” Mickey whispered so that only he could hear. Ian grinned his goofy grin and kissed Mickey one last time.

“I love you too, Mick. I’ll see you soon, a’right?”

Mickey nodded, but collapsed to sit on the bed to cover up his emotion and nerves.


	3. First Night Alone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's their first night separated since they reunited in prison...   
> It's not easy
> 
> Forgot to post this one!

The party was nice, of course. It was great seeing the family, meeting Freddy, having a _drink!_

It was actually a little surprising for so many people to show up and be excited for Ian's homecoming... No one had really visited and phonecalls were always surface-level, so... 

Well, Ian was grateful, let's leave it at that.

The party wound down pretty early, sending the Gallagher house into alarming silence. That was one thing the Gallagher house and prison had in common: complete, disturbing quiet at night. When the cell door closed him and Mickey in for the night it was always eerie how the bustle of the outside was muted, snuffed out like a candle's burning wick. Once the last Gallagher was in bed, the same could be said of his childhood home.

Laying in his own bed after months on that god-awful cot also had him feeling grateful. This mattress was in dire need of replacement, the springs jutted up in some spaces and were permanently coiled as low as possible in others, the center caved in from so many bodies resting in the same spot so many times and for such a prolonged amount of time.

But anything beats a flimsy piece of nylon coated cotton over a slab of sheet metal.

But then there was that quiet again, that deathly silence.

At this time of night he and Mickey would still be talking absently to each other. They might bicker or they might talk about the future as they had during Ian's final week inside, or they might just laugh about random shit that suddenly occurred to either of them.

A hole collapsed in Ian's chest as the weight of missing Mickey fully manifested in his thoughts.

This was the first night in almost a fucking _year_ that he wasn't kissing Mickey goodnight, wishing him a good night, drifting off to sleep to the sounds of Mickey's light snores because the man couldn't _not_ fall asleep on his back.

In fact, their first few months together during their honeymoon phase, the only issue they had was Ian not being able to sleep well from Mickey's snores. But Ian adjusted and now.... God, now Ian wasn't sure how he'd be able to fall asleep _without_ it.

He tossed to his side and allowed his eyes to absently rove the hall, taking note of every lump of each object, or objects... Like counting sheep but less stupid.

The words buzzed in his brain, " 'night, Mick." But he couldn't say them aloud because.... The one who was supposed to hear them wasn't there. 

The only way he could describe this feeling was like one of his limbs was suddenly yanked away, and he knew where it was but couldn't figure out how to reattach it and so for now would just have to learn to live without it.

He tossed to the other side, facing the wall and curling around his pillow with a huff. His chest felt hollow, open. Like said limb's missing spot was still a fresh wound--which it was.

Using his own shoulder and bicep as a pillow, Ian rest his head just off the pillow, tugging it close to his chest, fingers curling around the pillow's 'shoulder.' His knees connected with wall and as he closed his eyes, he allowed himself to imagine the surface was Mickey's knees... That Mickey was already here with him and they were doing their best to share this incredibly small space, grateful to just be together and be able to sleep together without anyone's judgement... Well, or at least if anyone _did_ judge he and Mickey could just tell them to shove it and resume their hold on each other.

Ian sniffed and tugged the pillow even closer to his chest, though it slightly distorted the fantasy.

"'Night Mick, I love you."

A light rustle sounded from the bunk bed in the opposite corner and Ian knew Liam was sitting up, staring at him.

"Ian? Who're you talking to?"

///////

The crinkling of nylon was like sharp nails raking up and down the chalkboard of his spine, seeping into his nerve endings and twisting his body into a permanent cringe. The cell was too fucking quiet. Any slight movement seemed to echo and reverberate in his bones. Without Ian's inane chatter to fill and warm the space, this concrete box was suddenly twenty degrees colder and seven square feet smaller.

Explain to him how removing one six foot tall giant from this space would make the area feel _smaller_. Fucking please! It made no sense! But claustrophobia was slowly setting in until the only space he could sense was what was directly under and above him. This bunk was officially all he knew.... his own fucking sarcophagus. 

His irritation mounted as he fumed at his own stupidity. _He told Ian to go! Why was this so hard when he knew it was coming?!_

He tossed and turned a few more times, finally settling once again on his back to glare intensely at that sheet of metal that used to support Ian Gallagher.

He still had _years_ on his sentence. Who.... Who knew when he'd be getting out? Pins and needles lined his stomach which squeezed and constricted as his heart did... His whole core in flux.

Trust.... Yes, he trusted Ian. He promised he'd be back. And Mickey trusted his word. He'd be back.

At least there'd been no begging him to say anything... He hadn't allowed Ian to lie to him this time... That was good.

But what if he had to serve out the rest of his sentence in full?

A shiver worked its way through him and he wanted Ian back more than he'd ever wanted anything.

"Mickey?" A familiar voice called through the vent.

"Enzo," Mickey called back gruffly.

An open and awkward silence.

The silence lasted so long he thought maybe Enzo'd changed his mind about saying anything.

He tossed onto his side facing the wall and covered himself with his blanket, imagining it was Ian's arm enveloping his, his warmth sinking into Mickey's skin and settling his stomach -- but only barely because as much as he wished this phantom touch was real... it was only a memory of the dozens of times that Ian swung into his bunk to kiss him awake or rub his shoulders just because.

"You uh... Doin alright?" Enzo's voice finally filtered through. Mickey sighed heavily, probably hard enough for Enzo to hear in the next cell.

"Fine," he replied blankly.

He sank into his bunk, settling in to begrudgingly welcome his loneliest sleep in almost a year. No kiss on the back of his neck, no fingers running along his arm as Ian retreated to climb into his own bed...

When Ian was here, he'd imagined Ian staying in bed with him so they could sleep together like when they lived together years ago. It had sucked hard enough when Ian's deep breathing was above him rather than beside him, when the warmth of his touch eventually faded away even under the blanket. But this was actually painful.

"Liar," Enzo murmured. Mickey sniffed and rubbed his eyes against the case-less pillow, shifting back on the material to avoid the wetness.

"Fuck off, Enzo," Mickey mumbled back with no heat and so quietly it was unclear if the other man had even heard.


	4. 10x06 Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Picking up as they complete their reunion kiss.

Breathless, Ian broke the kiss to rest his forehead against Mickey's. Under his arm, he felt Mickey's shoulders settle as his partner relaxed into Ian's hold. Ian's smile burst so quickly, the muscles in his face twitched at the adjustment. Mickey audibly released a breath and trailed the hand which had cupped the back of Ian's neck down over his shoulder to rest on his bare chest. Ian's fingers scratched lightly at Mickey's scalp before following suit and resting his hand over Mickey's heart.

"Miss me, Gallagher?" Mickey teased, almost like a taunt. Ian nodded against Mickey's forehead but pulled back to look his lover in the eyes.

"A lot." Mickey smirked and gently eased out of Ian's embrace. He let him go easily, but refused to take his eyes off him. His brows furrowed once he recognized the blood on the side of Mickey's face.

"Jesus, Mick! Only _hours_ out, max, and you're already bleeding?" Ian sighed. Mickey's brows shot up.

"Like I told you, long story."

"There's a long story past what you're doin out of the joint?" Mickey returned his look to Ian's face, the expression indiscernible. Ian sighed again and left the bedroom to grab the first aid kit that was, by some miracle, still well stocked. He locked the door behind him, wanting Mickey to himself for a while before they would eventually have to face the other Gallaghers.

He sat on the other side of Mickey, crossing his legs and cradling the kit in his lap as he gestured to Mickey to turn around to face him. Mickey followed Ian's unspoken direction -- though not without a tinge of attitude via a huff and an eyeroll, which Ian silently laughed at.

"Alright," Ian grumbled, snapping open the kit and grabbing a wet nap. "Spill."

Mickey sighed but explained his near-escape -- for which Ian thoroughly chided him over for a solid minute before Mickey cut him off to then share even _more_ good news (but at least that wasn't under _Mickey's_ control or Mickey's _fault)_ that the warden hinted at cartel presence in Chicago, 'eagerly awaiting' him. Ian, who had finished cleaning Mickey's scrapes, looked horrified and breathless.

"You... You think he's just being smug or some shit?" Ian asked as though pleading. Mickey shrugged and snagged a pair of tweezers from the first aid kit to play absently with the pointed tips. "Fuck..." Ian huffed, suddenly also unable to meet Mickey's gaze. They sat in silence for a long moment, the shouting from outside and usual movement from within the house filling the air between them. "Mick-"

"Got freaked cuz my bus here was bein followed... But it turned out 'was just my PO. Missed me at the prison, I guess, an' decided to meet me at the next stop--Gave me a ride here..." Mickey was trying to provide a lighter distraction, something Ian appreciated though the attempt was futile. He released a tense breath and picked up the Neosporin to coat over Mickey's wounds.

"He nice?" Ian asked absently as he ran a gentle, practiced thumb across the scraped flesh. Mickey's mouth twisted in consideration.

"I guess so. Clearly new to the business, though..." Ian pulled back, recapping the ointment, brow arched in question. "Was too fuckin cheery to be experienced workin with ex-cons." Ian laughed, struggling with the way his stomach twisted at the memory of his own psychotic PO and the whole mess he was probably going to be in with her any moment or day now.

He reached for a pair of bandages but Mickey (just shy of) slammed the lid closed. Ian smirked and didn't push the issue, snapping the clasps closed on the case and setting the kit on the floor beside them. Ian bit his lip and returned a gentle gaze to Mickey's face, absolutely perfect save for those two scabbing wounds.

"You gonna be okay hanging around here during your probation?" Ian asked, voice shaking slightly. Worried thoughts of Mickey running again to escape the cartel taunted his mind, sending a thick wave of nausea-inducing anxiety through him. Mickey grimaced.

"Don't really have an option," he replied mildly. _Not without breaking the law again,_ Ian added mentally.

Mickey pulled himself back to lean against the wall at the head of Ian's bed--their bed.

"I'm sure warden was just being a prick," Ian blurted. The tone was off even to his own ears -- nowhere near enough conviction to be believable. Mickey's slight shift in his mouth communicated his gratitude for Ian's optimism, weak in delivery that it was.

The shouting outside had finally settled down and all movement in the house was mostly muted. Ian bit his lip again and scooted forward shyly. Mickey grinned just as shyly, but with the smallest twinge of deviance and allure. The older man spread one leg to press against the adjacent wall, allowing Ian space to crawl between his lover's denim-clad legs. With the other leg, Mickey pulled Ian in even closer, boot lightly scraping against his waist. Ian winced at the sensation of that hard rubber catching on his bare flesh and laughed, turning to yank said offending boot off the other man's foot. Once free, Mickey once again returned to wrapping his leg around his partner's waist, tugging him in closer until Ian finally sank into Mickey's form to kiss him sweetly. Their hands instinctively resumed their usual spots around each other and they reacquainted themselves in the way they knew best.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please tip your fanfic writer! We accept Kudos and constructive comments! :3
> 
> Also, if anyone wants the sex that follows this, let me know and I'll get to that after writing part 2.


	5. 10x06 Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Picking up immediately after part 1 with a lil smut and more talking about Ian's PO.

Mickey pulled himself back to lean against the wall at the head of Ian’s bed — their bed.

“I’m sure warden was just being a prick,” Ian blurted. The tone was off even to his own ears — no where near enough conviction in it to be believable. Mickey’s slight shift in his mouth communicated his gratitude for Ian’s optimism nevertheless, weak that it was.

The shouting outside had finally settled down and all movement in the house was mostly muted. Ian bit his lip again and scooted forward shyly. Mickey grinned just as shyly but with the smallest twinge of deviance. The older man spread one leg to press against the adjacent wall, allowing Ian space to crawl between his lover’s denim-clad legs.

With the other leg, Mickey pulled Ian in even farther, boot lightly scraping against Ian’s waist. Ian laughed and turned to yank said boot off. Once free, Mickey once again returned to wrapping his leg around his partner’s waist, tugging him in closer until Ian finally sank into Mickey’s form to kiss him sweetly. Their hands instinctively resumed their usual spots around each other and Mickey drew Ian even closer, inspiring another breathy chuckle from Ian, who grasped Mickey’s ankle resting against the wall and pulled. Mickey broke the kiss as a gasp burst from him at Ian’s sudden action, followed by a breathy laugh of his own.

Mickey was slumped halfway down the wall, returning Ian’s silly grin as Ian stood up to finish readjusting Mickey on their bed. He climbed back over Mickey’s prostrate form and returned to kissing him, Mickey immediately cupping Ian’s face to draw him in as he deepened the kiss.

This was the first time being  _ really  _ together since the night before Mickey crossed the border. Yeah, they’d banged in prison, but there was really no replacing  _ actual lube  _ and genuine privacy.

The house was so quiet Ian would almost bet money that the Gallaghers and their guests had all left the house. Holding himself up by the forearms, Ian otherwise pressed his hips against Mickey’s, the friction of the denim-against-khaki providing an  _ interesting  _ sensation, the line of Mickey’s zipper almost giving Ian a nice, strong stroke. 

To Ian’s right, Mickey’s leg bent at the knee, caging his hips in on one side and providing leverage to thrust his own hips forward and against Ian’s steadily swelling erection. Ian grinned and nipped at Mickey’s ear before sitting up between Mickey’s open legs. The image sent a warm wave over his skin — he even hummed in appreciation.

Mickey picked up his boot-clad foot and playfully thrust it towards Ian’s chest, just slow enough so Ian could easily catch his foot. He yanked at the laces and made quick work of tossing the matching heavy footwear next to its twin, the sock following in a flash. Mickey sat up, leaning on his hands, glancing in amusement between Ian’s hand still holding his bare foot and the small smile on his lips. Ian guided Mickey’s leg to wrap around his waist, Mickey following until he was solidly seated in Ian’s lap. Mickey lay another kiss on Ian, running his fingers teasingly down his upper back before returning them to his hair. Ian pulled at the lapels of Mickey’s cut-off shirt until he relinquished hold of Ian’s hair to allow him to shed first one, then the other layer. Ian lowered a quick kiss to Mickey’s chest, right over his heart — incidentally right on the tattoo of his name — and used his hands pressed flat against the swells of Mickey’s ass to shift them against each other again, rolling their hips against each others. Mickey hummed slightly this time and pushed back against Ian’s chest, forcing him to readjust his legs to follow Mickey’s desired position change. It wasn’t exactly smooth or graceful, but Mickey proceeded like he didn’t notice, sliding down Ian’s torso to quickly assume his spot right in front of what was probably Mickey’s favorite part of Ian.

He attacked the clasps and zipper on Ian’s khakis, not even bothering to pull them down, simply opening the front enough to grant him access to Ian, pulling him forth from the boxers containing him. Mickey wasted zero time, sinking his mouth down over Ian’s semi in a matter of seconds. Ian sighed, absorbing the warmth, the slight scratch of Mickey’s tastebuds against his skin, the pressure of his lips wrapped around him and gliding easily  _ up  _ and  _ down.  _ He allowed his head to fall back against the mattress and cursed breathily. Ever since the first time Mickey ever got down on his knees for Ian, Mickey was always crazy eager to do it again. Ian also loved sucking dick, don’t get it wrong, but there was something about how Mickey did it that it was as though he was worshiping the cock. 

Ian thrust his fingers in Mickey’s hair and gripped it in appreciation for Mickey’s hard work. The gesture made Mickey hum, the vibrations intense down Ian’s shaft and through his balls, making him gasp, releasing his hold on Mickey’s hair. Mickey caressed the head with his tongue and continued the motions with his hand, squeezing  _ just  _ hard enough and resuming at the same pace as with his mouth.

Ian looked down his body to watch his partner’s tattooed hands at work and groaned again at the sight.

Impatient, Ian curled his thumbs under the fabric of his khakis and boxers and thrust them down. Mickey gave Ian’s length one more worshiping lick, complete with one more gentle, teasing suck on the head, and helped Ian shed the remainder of his clothes.

Ian sat up and attacked Mickey’s jeans, the other man helping to tear the clothing down and off his body. Before Ian could move to assert any sort of position, Mickey straddled Ian’s lap, grinding his hips back teasingly. Ian’s hands instinctively clutched at each thick, round cheek of Mickey’s ass and pulled him closer as Mickey planted another hard kiss on his lips.

Once the kiss deepened, he could taste the slight salt on Mickey’s tongue, a noticeable contrast from their kisses before. Mickey continued to grind back, running his ass along the fully erect length of Ian’s shaft. Ian tipped his head forward to rest against Mickey’s shoulder and let Mickey continue teasing him. Soon their painting breaths mingled and rang in their ears. Ian ran the tip of his nose along Mickey’s collarbone, drifted over the vein on the side of his neck, ghosted along his jaw, and finally captured Mickey’s lips with his. He wrapped an arm around Mickey’s waist, fingers teasing the skin at the small of his back. 

Ian pulled back from their heated kiss and waited, panting slightly, for Mickey to return his gaze. When he did, the breath was damn near knocked out of him. Those crystal eyes were even more vibrant than usual… Freedom looked  _ good  _ on him.

Though they certainly had their worries and troubles ahead, he was free. No more running from the law, no more worrying about cops waiting to toss him in prison. One obstacle, finally gone.

“I love you,” Ian murmured, maintaining a solid and sincere eye contact with his lover. “And I’m  _ so  _ glad you’re home.” Mickey’s cheeks flushed just the slightest bit but Ian’s focus was still on the  _ blue  _ of Mickey’s eyes.

“Love you too,” Mickey replied quietly, shyly. They smiled at each other for a long moment and Mickey finally dove in to once again capture Ian’s lips. Eyes closed, Ian shifted forward to reach for the lube —  _ real, actual lube!  _ Mickey’s thighs tightened at Ian’s waist, his arms constricting across his shoulders and fingers digging into red strands of hair to keep secure as Ian rifled through the bedside table drawer. Eventually, Ian had to release from the kiss to focus on his search, giving Mickey the perfect opportunity to tease him, biting down on the ginger’s pale neck. Ian gasped as his fingers finally wrapped around the bottle, and Mickey also gasped as Ian felt himself twitch against Mickey’s ass.

Mickey reached beside him to snatch the lube right out of Ian’s hand and impatiently set to work. Ian laughed but allowed him to open himself up as Ian continued to kiss him, hands cupped over Mickey’s warm cheeks. As Mickey continued working himself open, he gasped in Ian’s mouth at his ministrations, allowing Ian the opportunity to play with Mickey’s lips or tongue with his own. They shared breath, they shared sensations, they shared skin in this moment, and the overwhelming combination of sensations went straight to Ian’s dick which Mickey grinded down on impatiently each time he so much as brushed or twitched against him.

Finally, Ian grabbed Mickey’s wrist and as he toppled them over to lay on their mattress, he adjusted the arm so his tattooed hand was resting comfortably over his head. Mischief sparkled in Mickey’s eye, his lubed fingers fidgeting absently above Ian’s hold. Clumsily with his left hand, he applied a healthy amount of lube to his fingers, spreading it liberally along the tip of him and thrusting inside in one solid move. Mickey’s confident smirk practically wiped off in favor of a surprised and joyous, but silent “Oh.” He bottomed out quickly, but Mickey’s trembling legs on either side of Ian’s waist waved a red flag across his lust, ordering him to hold off even though knowing Mickey he was already rearing to go.

He lowered himself to lay over Mickey’s form, pressing a strong kiss against Mickey’s lips, surprise opening his lips a little as he smiled from Mickey using his lube-free hand to pull him closer into the kiss. Ian released the wrist he’d held captive and Mickey threw that arm over Ian’s shoulder, kissing him fiercely. At first, Ian thought it was just a rush of emotion making Mickey kiss him so passionately (and sure, there was that), but as Mickey started rutting against Ian, working hard to get some friction, Ian realized with another chuckle that Mickey really was rearing to go.

He broke the kiss and rest his forehead against Mickey’s as he reared back and thrust forward. Hard. A sigh burst from Mickey’s chest at the strength of his motion and Ian knew that was exactly what Mickey needed from this time together, and obliged.

The entire time they were connected, their foreheads rest gingerly against each others, their eyes occasionally opening to make fierce, heated contact before slipping closed again at another mind-numbingly  _ good  _ sensation. 

At some point, though, Mickey decided he wanted to take the reins so to speak and deadass flipped them over with minimal effort, slipping right back down on Ian with hardly any time apart. They sighed in unison, Mickey’s eyes closed and head thrown back in ecstasy. 

Ian mostly let Mickey take control, grinding his hips up rhythmically to help his partner along and otherwise just loving the look of Mickey working over him.

They each climaxed so fast, yet so hard, that it wasn’t until Ian woke up to find Mickey still fully seated on him, body hung over his, for Ian to even realize just how hard they’d come. 

_ Well, that’s a guarantee of a round two…  _ Ian thought amusedly to himself, already thinking of something else they could do with their newfound freedom. Positions they hadn’t tried since before their first breakup, positions Ian’d always wanted to try but was always too insecure to propose.

Mickey sat up with a slight wince and chuckled to himself.

“Whoops,” Mickey grumbled sleepily. Ian laughed too and allowed Mickey to slowly remove himself from him, though the loss of warmth was already enough to make him want that round two. 

Mickey sighed tiredly and rolled over to lay on his side beside Ian, back against the wall and gazing contentedly at his lover. Ian returned the warm look, but probably with his goofy flair that Mickey somehow found endearing.

So many people feel the need to hash stuff out — talk about how good that was, how happy they are, how much they love each other, yadda yadda. And yeah, sometimes they liked to say something along those lines, but normally, they were those people who saw value in quiet. — And not just quiet, silence.

It was a comfortable, content silence. Mickey didn’t smile, but his eyes held all of the warmth of one and more. They basked in their love for each other, in their mutual freedom.

No more Terry Milkovich threatening Mickey into hiding who he is, no more of Ian rejecting his diagnosis or medications, no more law enforcement actively searching for either of them because they  _ both  _ served their time — paid their debts to society and shit.

Ian reached out and tucked a loose strand of hair back with the rest and his face suddenly fell, which alerted Mickey to something wrong. 

Ian plopped over on his back and glared at the ceiling for a brief moment before taking a shirt from the floor to wipe Mickey's ejaculate from his stomach.

“So, I  _ know  _ that look’s not at  _ me, _ ” Mickey teased. But the tone was off, coated with concern. Ian bit his lip and sat up. Mickey followed suit and Ian turned to allow Mickey access his boxers on the floor.

“Umm…” Ian breathed, pulling his underwear up all of the way as he stood up. He turned to face Mickey whose boxers were pulled up all of the way but still maintained a seat on the bed. “I asked you about your P.O. but never told you about mine…” Mickey’s brows furrowed in confusion, almost like in suspicion.

"'Kay... So, you gonna?" Ian breathed.

"Gotta promise not to get mad at _me_ , a'right? It's _not_ my choice, okay?" Mickey actually looked offended, brows shooting up in shock. Ian nodded, acknowledging the stupid declaration. "Okay," he breathed almost in apology. "My PO is fuckin psycho, okay?"He blurted. Mickey's brows once again shifted to communicate his thoughts: _the fuck you mean, 'psycho'?_

"She did my piss test for me my first day out, sayin she did a shit ton of coke that mornin, that she'd use her sample as mine if I didn't go along with her scheme."

"You're joking," Mickey demanded. Ian sighed, holding his hands up in surrender to say 'I wish I was.' "You... You gotta report her or —" 

"Co-workers said if I did that she'd make my life _hell."_

"She can't make your life hell if she's fucking fired —"

"I'd be the first one who managed to _get_ her fired..." Ian replied easily. Mickey's eyes searched the room as though looking for inspiration.

"Well... okay, she fucked with your first drug test and threatened you, but what exactly's she havin you do?" Mickey leaned over to pick up his jeans, thrusting his legs through the pant legs, a tic to avert his attention to something he _could_ control, unlike this situation. Ian decided to follow Mickey's lead and picked up his own jeans and turned to his drawers to toss Mickey a tank top, replacing the heavy long sleeve tee.

"Medicaid scam. We pick up fake emergency room calls, pretend to administer as many procedures and medications as possible to rack up a big ambulance bill." Ian sighed, a little emotion crackling his voice. He could feel Mickey watching him, fully dressed and now standing directly to his right. "I... I think I might be in some serious shit."

"But it's all _her_ fault, you can't be —"

"No, not legally. With _her,_ " Ian clarified, turning to face him. He sighed deeply and continued, "a pregnant woman needed help today, but she wasn't one of our customers.. I told my co-workers I'd take the fall... But I don't know what that's going to look like..." 

_ With that psycho.... it really could be anything. _

Mickey's eyes communicated the same thought, worry consuming his face. Their sweet afterglow was completely gone replaced by endless tension and fear. He averted his eyes, upset at himself for ruining their first afternoon together.

"I... I'm sorry, I shouldn't have told you—"

" _Excuse me?"_ Mickey demanded. Ian raised his gaze back to Mickey's, shocked at the harshness of his tone. Mickey stepped right into Ian's space so they were chest to chest and he cupped the back of Ian's neck with both hands, giving him no other option but to look in his eyes. "You _never_ apologize for telling me your shit. Especially when it's something this important. Ian, this.... this is _fucked!_ And what's more, I can't even fuckin help you." He released Ian's neck but Ian immediately took one of Mickey's hands, threading his fingers through Mickey's.

"I just hate that I ruined it... We were—" He looked to the bed and though Mickey didn't turn to verify what Ian was looking at, he nodded.

"You didn't ruin shit, though." Ian's own brows shot up and he started to argue but Mickey crashed his lips against Ian's to silence him. When they separated they maintained steady eye contact.

"You didn't ruin shit," Mickey repeated. "I know we didn't exactly talk about it, but... when you started talkin about the future, it did get me thinkin—about what I want that to look like." He almost said it like a question. Mickey was nervous and it tugged at Ian's heartstrings something fierce to hear Mickey work for his words. "I don't know about marriage and kids and dream jobs and shit, but I know that what never worked for us before was holdin shit back or pretending that shit was okay when it wasn't." Ian's mouth tilted up at one corner, a shy smile. And he bowed his head to hide the slight flush on his cheeks. "This shit ain't okay and I want to know about it. And you bet your ass that as soon as I figure out a way to get the bitch away from you that I'm gonna get it taken care of." Ian laughed a little.

"I've no doubt," he affirmed, returning his gaze to Mickey's.

"We tell each other everything from now on, got it?" Mickey declared. Ian nodded and, for some reason, threw his arms around Mickey for a hug which, oddly enough, Mickey returned with gusto.


	6. 10x06 Part 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mickey struggles with some intense anxiety while Ian's gone with Paula

With Ian gone and Mickey completely surrounded by strangers and completely without anything he could possibly do to help his lover, Mickey had no choice but to return to their room to wait for him to return home.

He tried finishing the food Ian brought up for them, but his nerves wouldn't stop swirling up in his stomach making him so nauseous he couldn't even consider eating. But there was no use in letting perfectly good food go to waste. With a grumbled exhale, Mickey picked up their plates and breezed down the stairs to the kitchen where this time he was fully prepared for the strange family. What he hadn’t noticed while he was downstairs was that they were _still_ hard at work making tamales. He placed their leftovers in the fridge and rinsed off Ian’s empty plate, needing to squeeze by a couple of people to make it happen. 

One of the elder women asked a younger woman who he was, if the family had any more children. The woman closer to Mickey’s age answered that she wasn’t sure, that she’d ask. The older woman advised her to be careful and not to be alone with him because the look of him wasn’t one to be trusted.

Before the younger woman could follow through in asking her questions, Mickey replied in Spanish, “I’m with Ian, third oldest sibling.”

The young woman’s eyes widened as though panicked.

“I’m not offended,” Mickey said blankly, bothered by how threatened she looked at the realization that he could have heard a lot more than what was just said. “And I’m not gonna hurt you,” he added in Spanish for the grandmother’s benefit. The older woman turned to face him, completely fearless.

“You wear the mark of the men who chased us away from Juarez. I do not trust you just because you speak Spanish well.” She declared this in a clipped tone, but she didn’t try to simplify her words or slow down her speech for him which told a slightly different story than what she said. He struggled with how to respond… Does he swear he’s not dangerous, explaining that he left the cartel? What if she doesn’t believe him? But then, why should he care? She doesn’t know him and it was unlikely that she ever would get to know him. But he still felt the need to reassure her that she didn’t need to lock up her purse or grandchildren or anything.

This was something he’d have to deal with probably for the rest of his life…. People judging him because of this stupid tattoo and just judging because he looked tough. He was used to that but for some reason being free and determined to put that lifestyle behind him made him indignant at anyone making judgement on him because of his past or appearance. But he got it.

“Thank you for the tamales, _abuelita._ ” He faltered a little on the nickname, afraid that he might insult her, but she did not react.

He turned to leave the kitchen, to return to their room when the younger woman stepped beside him.

“You’re with Ian, right?” She asked, switching to English. He examined her for a second before answering.

“Yeah. Mickey,” he introduced.

“He seems nice.” She breezed. Mickey bit his lip, tongue slipping out to warm and dampen the skin, and nodded with surety. “I’m sure he’s okay,” she whispered.

“You heard all that?” Mickey guessed, eyes flashing to her in surprise.

“It’s kind of hard not to in this house,” she laughed. Mickey smirked.

“I remember,” he laughed also. Her brows shot up a little.

“Oh, you’re not new to the Gallagher madness?” Mickey scoffed and shook his head.

“Not _remotely_ new.” She grimaced playfully and turned to return to work.

“Good to meet you, Mickey. I’m Anne, a friend of Carl’s!” she called as he continued toward the stairs.

“Yeah, good to meet you,” he replied a little robotically. A genuinely friendly face did wonders for his anxiety until he made it to the first landing of the upstairs floor.

“Oh, fuck!” Mickey blurted, jumping to the left to avoid colliding with someone — a tall blonde woman he’d never seen before. Her eyes were blown wide open as she examined him. He let her watch him in awkward silence for a couple of moments before finally sliding around her with a mute “um, sorry?” and retreating back to Ian’s room.

The stairs, it seemed, were an awkward place for him today. First with Ian's P.O. examining him as one appraises a workhorse or show-dog, then with people watching him as though terrified he's wind up decking any of them and stealing their children away if they looked at him the wrong way, and now another stranger (he assumed Lip's baby-mama though he couldn't be sure since the baby never left Lip's chest and so couldn't be a giveaway as to whose belly he'd escaped from) was also terrified of him for bumping into him on her way out of the bathroom.

But none of the rest of that mattered half so much as the PO. Where was she taking him? What was she doing with him? Was he in trouble? What was her interest with _him?_

She spoke of his family as though they were famous, as though they were divine. Which, to up and coming crime bosses, maybe the Milkoviches were somewhat of celebrities because of their long lineage with the Ukrainian Mob... But still...

Being appraised by Ian's P.O. had unsettled his stomach in a way that he hadn’t known since…

He shook his head, not wanting to remember _that_ bullshit now. He exhaled slowly but harshly as he climbed back into their bed, folding his arms against his bent knees.

The night dragged on and all he could do was replay that incredibly uncomfortable exchange on the stairs.

He needed to trust Ian, that if he said everything was fine that everything _was_ fine…

But Ian hadn’t said anything.

Usually, Ian’s hand on him in a situation like that was reassurance to say that he was okay, that Mickey could put away the figurative guns because they weren’t necessary. But what if this time it wasn’t that they weren’t necessary but that they wouldn’t help?

Mickey shook his head free of worst case images popping into his head. Like… what if the psycho bitch got Ian arrested or faked a parole violation and Ian was right back at the prison getting sorted back in like he’d gone on a short vacation instead of a fucked up ride like this one?

But he couldn’t think like that. Ian could take care of himself and he had to, _had_ to trust that if Ian thought they would be separated again that he would at least let him know.

The hours that it took for Ian to return home were _maddening._ He’d naively thought he’d get at _least_ twelve hours of peace with Ian before worrying over him in any capacity… Fuckin stupid, huh?

After Lip and the blonde chick's fight, Tami had locked herself in hers and Lip’s room, leaving Lip, once again, alone with their baby. Freddie… After he’d finally got his chance to use the bathroom, Lip was actually standing outside the door like he was waiting for him. Mickey raised a brow at him, prompting Lip to speak — which he awkwardly did.

“You worried about Ian?” the older Gallagher asked. Mickey bit his lip for a brief second as he decided on a reply.

“You think I have a reason to be?” Lip took the same kind of pause Mickey had taken only to look at his son and lightly bounce him for a moment.

“Would you still be even if I told you ‘you don’t’?”

Mickey didn’t even bother answering that. Lip jerked his head toward the stairs and Mickey followed him down to the kitchen where Lip grabbed a beer for Mickey and a coffee for himself. As he was pouring the hot stuff, though, Mickey leaped out of his chair and held his hands out to take the baby. Lip looked at him warily.

“What, you think I’m gonna drop him?” Mickey demanded irritably. Lip shook his head.

“Just don’t remember you likin kids that much, even when it was yours.”

Okay, that stung and brought up a fuck ton of old scars which Mickey had to shove away.

“You want me to hold your kid so you can pour the hot shit or not?” Mickey replied testily. Finally, Lip placed the pot back on the burner and carefully passed his sleeping child over to Mickey, who cradled him to his chest the way he remembered Ian doing with Yevgeny for-fucking-ever ago.

Lip poured his coffee and Mickey went to sit at the table to start on his beer.

“Sorry,” Lip murmured once he joined him at the table. Mickey raised his brows in question as he completed a long pull on his drink. “I’m really protective, I know.”

Mickey shrugged and Lip just watched him as though trying to decipher an impossible code.

“Were you like that with… with yours?” He clearly couldn’t remember his name.

“Yevgeny?” Mickey clarified. Lip nodded and Mickey sat with the odd feeling of having spoken his child’s name for the first time since he and Ian talked about him when they’d first reunited. Ian learned quickly that Mickey did _not_ want to talk about his son. Mickey’d started getting violently angry until eventually he just… _broke._

Ian never asked about his thoughts on Yevgeny again.

“Not really,” Mickey finally answered, watching the baby’s peaceful face. Lip shook his head, making a noise that sounded a lot like disgust. “What?” Mickey demanded. Lip sipped his coffee, peering at Mickey over the rim of the cup. He took his time swallowing his drink, like he was collecting his thoughts and deciding how to say what he wanted to say.

Wise.

“I can’t understand that… complacence with your own flesh and blood. Like… You _made_ that, you know?”

“Svetlana did the real work,” Mickey grumbled. Lip’s brows furrowed.

“Well, yeah, but she couldn’t’ve made him without you. Just like Freddy wouldn’t be here without _me.”_

Mickey laughed without humor. Fuckin _pride._ That’s what this was about. This time it was Mickey’s turn to be disgusted.

“I never understood it. I would do _anything_ for my son, but you… do you even know where he is?”

“With his mother where he belongs,” Mickey returned tersely.

“So… I guess that answers any questions about you and my brother having little ones,” Lip cracked up. Mickey furrowed his brows in confusion and annoyance.

“If Ian wants kids, I’m open to it. But I don’t see why it’s any business of yours one way or a fucking other.” Lip’s eyes narrowed, irritation darkening them to a stormy gray rather than their usual blue.

“God…” Lip breathed, eyes averting somewhere else, anywhere else before he turned back to Mickey to take his son back. Mickey gave him back without any hesitation. He stood, Fred in arms, and turned to climb the stairs, but turned at the foot of them.

“So, you already have a kid out there who _probably_ still needs a father, or at the very least deserves to know _his actual_ father, but you’re cool with just getting new ones instead of looking after the one you already have? How is it that you can have a kid out there with _your_ DNA and you not even give a shit?!” Lip hissed. Mickey met his eye coldly.

“Because you don’t know _shit_ Gallagher. You’ve got a kid you want and are excited to have, be happy about that.” Lip shook his head in disgust, eyes rolling to the back of his head as if searching for a wise-crack final comeback before deciding to simply take his leave. “Oh, and Lip?” Lip turned to face him. Mickey set his face in a grave but sincere position. “What Ian and I choose to do with our future is _none_ of your fucking business. And my past doesn’t have shit to do with it, so you can keep your trap shut about any of that shit unless you want me to close it for you.” Lip’s face darkened in response but he didn’t say anything, finishing his climb up the stairs with his sleeping infant still secure in his arms.

Mickey took his time with the beer, enjoying an empty kitchen — a quiet space that wasn’t that small-ass closed off bedroom. But the conversation with Lip ate at him. This was exactly why he tried to avoid talking about kids all-together.

Of course it dug at him knowing Yev was out there without his biological father, especially with all of the progress he’d made with him those years ago… But it’s also been years since he’s seen his kid and.. God only knew what kind of damage it’d do to him to keep popping in without any true drive to stick around; like, if Svetlana decided to up and move? He’d stay right where he was and move on with his life with Ian and that’d be that. What kind of self-esteem booster would that be for a kid to know that his father doesn’t want to put their needs before his own?

He couldn’t even bring himself to feel like shit about it anymore. It was what it was.

Soon after this thought occurred to him, Ian marched through the front door and immediately turned to dart up the stairs, not even noticing Mickey sitting there. Mickey’s chair scraped back from how hard he rose from his place to follow. 

Mickey just barely beat Ian to the bathroom door where the redhead swung into and Mickey followed.

“What the fuck happened?” Mickey demanded, though the tone wasn’t angry or forceful, it was panicked. Ian’s throat produced some questionable sounds as he fidgeted with his jeans, struggling to unfasten them and then shuck them off. Mickey closed the door behind him before Ian could undress for any bystander to witness. As he turned back around, Ian finished shucking off his boots and socks.

“Well, I’ll not be helping anyone outside of our ‘program’ again, that’s for fucking sure!” Ian panted, stripping off his shirt turning the water in the shower on to full blast. 

“The fuck happened?” Mickey asked desperately, grabbing Ian’s arm to try to get him to talk to him. Ian freed himself from Mickey’s gentle hold and pleaded with his eyes to let him step under the water’s spray. Mickey released him and waited for Ian’s reply.

He sighed and leaned over to pick up Ian’s clothes from the floor, but stopped when his hand came in contact with… a slimy texture over his boxers.

“UGH!” He instinctively exclaimed, shoving the clothing back on the floor. “IAN! The _fuck?!”_ Inside the shower, Ian released a similar groan to Mickey’s own exclamation.

“Paula she… God, let’s just say she threatened the family jewels.” Ian called over the water.

“ _Excuse_ me?” Mickey pushed the shower curtain back just enough so he could glare into Ian’s eyes, but they were averted, focusing on washing his lower abdomen and… god, his junk. It was already red from rubbing and scrubbing.

“ _Ian… did she?”_ Ian shook his head violently.

“She put a pound of ground chuck over my dick and had her chained up dog inch closer and closer until I swore I wouldn’t break her rules anymore.”

Mickey’s eyes burst wide open in shock.

That… He couldn’t even put to _words_ what that was! Was it abuse? Was it assault? Was it blackmail? It just…. 

He was stripped out of his clothes and in the shower in record time, wrapping his arms around Ian and pulling him into the biggest and tightest hug they’d ever had. Ian wrapped his arms around Mickey as well, tight, tight, and tighter as they clung together. 

Mickey thread his fingers through Ian’s hair, drawing his face into his shoulder and neck as he buried his own face in Ian’s neck.

What… the… fuck?

Ian trembled in Mickey’s arms, but not from tears or anything. He was shaken but not too badly all things considered.

“Fuck....” Ian breathed into Mickey’s shoulder.

“My thought exactly,” Mickey confided.

“I… I really thought she’d do it at the end too, just to teach me a _real_ lesson.”

“I’m surprised you didn’t piss yourself,” Mickey admitted, pulling back from their embrace just enough so they could make eye contact. His concern was thoroughly etched in his face, he could see it in Ian’s blown-out pupils.

“Probably would’ve if the dog had come any closer,” Ian sighed, breathing deeply as though for the first time.

The bathroom door erupted open, shocking both men into indignantly crying, “HEY!” in unison.

“Ian?” Lip called over the shower’s spray. “That you?”

“Yeah,” Ian called back.

“With.... Mickey?” Lip sounded weirded out by it. Mickey flung the shower curtain open just enough to threaten exposing their bodies, but really just exposed the vast space of the front of the shower not occupied by them, pressed to the back, and peeked his head around the curtain.

“Yeah, and?” Mickey demanded, pushing his annoyance as far as he could to cover up the fact that he’d been damn near in tears only ten seconds ago.

“Ugh, just don’t bang in there please! Lots of people use that shower! Even more than usual!” Lip cried in disgust, turning to leave the bathroom until something occurred to him.

“You okay, Ian?”

Ian and Mickey exchanged a look, Mickey’s brow arched as though saying ‘your call. Tell him what you want to.’

“Uhm, yeah… Fine.”

Mickey’s heart actually fell for Ian a little bit. Even at twenty three years old he still felt the need to lie to his family in order to avoid sharing any real feelings, leaving Mickey once again as the only person Ian Gallagher trusted with the truth. It wasn’t like Mickey minded being that person, it more hurt him that Ian had this vast family that claimed to be there for each other through everything… but Ian still didn’t trust them with that everything.

Lip gone, they returned to their embrace for a long, silent moment. Breathing each other in was sometimes the most relaxing, comforting thing you could possibly do with your partner, especially at a time like this.

The water was dipping to a colder temperature so Mickey stepped behind Ian to wash his back as he finished cleaning his dick, legs, and lower abs.

Once Ian turned off the water, he stood in the silence for a moment. Mickey wrapped his arms around him once again, and, raised to the balls of his feet so he could reach, he whispered in his lover’s ear that he was not alone, that they’d figure this shit out together.


	7. Ian's Melancholy -- lead-up to deleted scene 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I realized that the second deleted scene had Ian in his work uniform because it followed the brief scene where he had to pass by another emergency during work the day following Paula's threat. This is how I imagine Ian returned home and how the second deleted scene was set up.

As much as Ian had already hated working for Paula, the feeling was compounded each time he had to drive past a person in need. After the third emergency they passed without stopping, Ian had to move to the back so he didn’t have to see just how many people needed his help and how many people were shit out of luck because his devil of a boss wouldn’t let him.

Quitting time, as sweet a relief as it normally was, was even more sweet, though not half so relieving as before. He couldn’t get those groups of people out of his head. Even as he walked home from the El platform, he heard the cries of “asshole!” and “what the fuck!” from the throats of those people.

Okay, he hadn’t actually heard them — the bus was driving by way too fast for him to have heard anything. BUT, he imagined that was what they all said because that’s what he would have said if the situation were reversed.

Only if the situation were reversed, maybe the people driving wouldn’t be cowards like he was… going along with it because he was too afraid to speak out against her corruption. 

The most infuriating part, Ian decided as he pounded up the front steps to the house, was that if all the parolees banded together to call her out on her shit, it would be possible to make a difference. But he had no idea who was in Paula’s pocket, either receiving some benefit from her for their compliance (and eyes/ears into the rest of the parolees under her watch) or too afraid to face consequences if their outcry fell on deaf ears.

The Mexican family was mostly absent, only three or four elder women tending to the tamales, the rest of them… only God (or Carl perhaps) knew. At the close of the door, Mickey apparently stirred, meeting him at the halfway mark on the stairs.

“Hey, yo!” Mickey greeted brightly. Ian, try as he might, couldn’t return the cheer.

“Hey, Mick,” he sighed, passing him on the stair. He could practically feel Mickey’s eyes on his retreating back.

“Whassup?” Mickey asked, concern lifting his tone in a different way from the former cheerfulness. Ian just sighed and turned into their bedroom — the boys’ room — and collapsed on their bed. He instinctively made himself small on the twin sized mattress, allowing room for Mickey to sit next to him if he so wished.

His mind abruptly shifted to their sleeping arrangement. It was bullshit that a  _ couple  _ had to share one teeny bed that was hardly sufficient for  _ one  _ of their grown bodies, much less both. It had been easier to share this very bed when they were seventeen and nineteen. Though they’d each stopped growing  _ up,  _ they’d both continued bulking  _ out  _ as their interest in fitness finally caught up and gave them muscular, athletic physiques that, while attractive and Ian appreciated the look of his partner, made it increasingly difficult to find room for the two of them in the night.

Mickey stood immediately to his right, Ian could see him in his periphery. But he didn’t look to him.

“We’ve gotta call a family meeting about this fuckin sleeping arrangement,” Ian grumped. Though he couldn’t see him in his periphery alone, Ian knew Mickey was rubbing at the back of his neck with a tattooed hand, a gesture that communicated both confusion and concern.

“That’s what’s got you fucked up?” Mickey questioned with uncertainty. Ian sighed through his nose, a “no.” Mickey crouched so he was mostly level with Ian’s face and arched a brow. A prompting, “well then?”

Ian sat up and twisted his body around to face Mickey who had stood back up straight and planted himself directly in front of Ian’s seated form. Ian could feel the sad set of his eyes, slightly turned down from the heaviness of his thoughts.

“I can’t help them…” Ian finally murmured, glancing up at Mickey through his lashes. Mickey’s face was relaxed, simply listening patiently and compassionately. “I drove past at  _ least  _ three people who needed help today and we didn’t stop —  _ couldn’t  _ stop.” Ian put his face in his hands which brushed the front of Mickey’s jeans. The denim was soft against his knuckles and then the palms of his hands as he released his face and ran his hands along the sides of his partner’s legs. Mickey allowed Ian to touch him, even running his own fingers through Ian’s hair, coaxing his attention back up to look into Mickey’s eyes. “You know, I trained to become an EMT because I wanted to help people,” Ian continued after a long pause. “A fireman had saved me and with my emergency first aid training at basic training… I dunno, it just made sense as a career move, you know?” Mickey still didn’t move, just kept a supportive hand against Ian’s cheek as he spoke, face passive as he listened. “I know I fucked that up when I did what I did… that it’s possible I would never be able to be a  _ real  _ EMT with my record, and I’d made my peace with that in prison… So now, it’s like I’m being mocked or something. I get to “help” people, not  _ help  _ people, you know?” He choked a little on his rising anger and sorrow. Mickey moved for the first time since Ian started speaking, stepping to the side and lowering himself to sit beside Ian, leg bent so he could sit directly facing him. “ _ And,  _ to top it off,” Ian continued, feeling his eyes warm with tears of frustration. “If I actually help someone who  _ actually needs it,  _ I get fuckin threatened by a hungry dog? How…” Ian huffed out a harsh breath. “How is that…?” He couldn’t even finish his thought… It wasn’t right and it wasn’t fair, but what in his life ever fuckin had been? Mickey sighed and dropped his line of sight to Ian’s hands twisting in his lap.

“I really thought she was gonna bite my dick off,” Ian chuckled without humor.

“Good thing she didn’t… Then I’d have to kill her,” Mickey muttered equally humorless. Ian smirked. They sat in quiet for a while and Ian wasn’t sure if he was waiting for Mickey to offer some words of wisdom, to change the subject as Mickey was apt to do when he wasn’t sure how to respond, or if he was waiting for himself to figure out what to say next. What more was there to say? Was there more to say? 

Ian sighed deciding there really wasn’t more to say. He was upset about not being able to help people, something, as he already said, he’d already made peace with. He supposed there wasn’t much more to really say to that… He’d just have to get used to it and get over it.

“What’d you do today?” Ian murmured, looking up to take in Mickey’s face — god, he was still in awe that he was here! Mickey blew out a breath between his lips, aggravation — or maybe anxiety? — in the action and his eyes.

“Stayed up here mostly… Tryna avoid the Mexicans downstairs…” Ian rolled his eyes at his partner.

“I’m telling you, you’re worried about nothin’. They make tamales and they’re only here because of Carl… He’s trying to bone one of the girls, I think.” Mickey’s mouth twisted almost as though in disbelief. “They’re just trying to make a living, Mickey, I promise.” 

Mickey sighed and Ian watched as those blue eyes turned to his forearm… the mark inked into it. He could almost sense the self-loathing thoughts racing through Mickey’s head at that tattoo. Ian reached out and caressed the words under that reaper…  _ South Side Forever… _

Mickey’s eyes raised to Ian’s and the eye contact ignited a fire in the pit of Ian’s stomach. He hated the bullshit that they were both currently enduring… Mickey’s fearing for his life and being on parole, forced to adhere to the rules of probation while also checking over his shoulder for any sign of the cartel that the warden himself taunted him with… Ian’s corrupt parole officer intent on making his life a living hell while Ian was desperately trying to prove that he was ready to get his life back on track… Wanting to help Mickey get his life in order alongside his own but clueless as to do so…

Ian sighed and stood, pulling his shirt hem out of the confines of his khakis before turning back around to look at his partner, now returning his gaze to Ian’s face.

“Gonna get one of those tamales, want one?” The caution and fear that instantly crossed Mickey’s face dropped a thick, ice cold block of lead into Ian’s chest.

God, they were both fucked. And there was surely nothing Ian could do to help either of them.


	8. 10x08 -- Lead up to "fuckin flapjacks"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How did Ian and Mickey spend the night before and morning of "Let's get some fuckin flapjacks" ?
> 
> Suggested by OOMF on Twitter <3

Mickey rolled into their bed at an ungodly hour…. Probably four in the morning if Ian had to guess from the position of the moonlight streaming through their blinds.

“Where you been? I called you,” Ian grumbled through sleep as Mickey wrapped a strong arm around Ian’s waist. They often fell asleep facing each other with them waking up spooning, Mickey always curled into Ian’s chest.

“With Dad,” Mickey replied through a yawn. Ian’s brows furrowed.

“ _ Why?”  _ He asked, allowing his tone to speak for just how strange he found this. Mickey breathed harshly through his lips, blowing a light raspberry at Ian’s judgement.

“He’s chilled out, man,” Mickey assured. This time Ian’s eyes burst wide open. His partner was settling into his pillow, one arm curled under the plush for added support. Mickey’s eyes were closed and relaxed.

“Chilled? He was fuckin homicidal last time you saw him!” Ian practically shrilled. Mickey cracked one eye open to glare at his partner.

“Ian…” Mickey warned.

“Mickey!” Ian replied easily, disbelief coloring his voice.

“Step off, Ian,” Mickey grumbled, closing his eyes again.

“I will never understand your loyalty to that…” he had no words to describe Terry Milkovich.

“Probably the same reason you and yours keep Frank around —”

“We do?” Ian demanded. This time Mickey huffed and sat straight up to glare at him with full effect.

“ _ Hello,  _ him being in your old bed is the whole reason you and I took this room,” Mickey reminded.

“ _ No,  _ you and me fucking is the reason  _ they  _ insisted we  _ take  _ the room.” Ian corrected. Mickey glowered. They glared each other down for a solid half minute before Mickey sighed and ran a hand through his hair.

“I know you’ve written your dad off, Ian… But I haven’t. Okay?” 

“Frank ain’t even my dad,” Ian reminded in a grumble. Mickey rolled his eyes.

“Even more to add to my point. My sister’s gone, who the fuck knows how long Sandy’ll be in town before my brothers chase her off or how long  _ they’ll  _ stick around… All I got is you. And now him because he’s decided he can stand to look at me without wantin to kill me. The Gallaghers barely pay attention to  _ you  _ most of the time, much less give a shit about me…. So, excuse  _ the fuck  _ out of me for acceptin some  _ family. _ ” Ian could feel his eyes soften with sadness… God… Mickey really was alone without Ian and even with Ian it couldn’t feel good to only have one person to rely on… Not that Ian thought Mickey could actually rely on Terry Milkovich… And, Mickey probably didn’t think so either, but… Sometimes appearances, pretending, was comforting. Ian sighed through his nose and nodded sadly, reaching a hand up to cup Mickey’s shoulder in a comforting gesture. Mickey stayed put, looking like he was waiting for more judgement.

“Okay,” Ian breathed gently. Mickey’s eyes flickered in the moonlight with the recognition that they had an understanding. “Just… Promise me you’ll be careful. Won’t do anything to get sent back in, right?” Mickey smirked.

“Oh, you’d give a shit?” It was a joke, but it hit Ian square in the chest as if it were a heated accusation. In answer, Ian sat up straight and pulled his legs into a criss-cross seat so they could still share the bed. He reached with his other hand to cup the back of Mickey’s neck and pulled him into a fierce kiss.  _ Fuck yes I’d care, you prick,  _ the kiss said. Mickey chuckled a little into the kiss, his hands both sinking into the back of Ian’s hair, fingers running across the fuzzy buzzed strands at the base of his scalp. Ian smiled, breaking their kiss, and leaned back against the wall. Mickey followed, planting one knee on either side of Ian’s waist, Ian quickly shifting his legs to lay straight ahead as Mickey settled down into his lap. Mickey bit his lip and thrust his hips against Ian’s stomach, teasing Ian’s cock at the same time. Ian raised a brow.

“Now?” he asked teasingly. Mickey nodded and offered zero resistance as Ian grabbed hold of one of Mickey’s thighs and tossed him over to lay beneath him.

  
  


A pair of lips and a strong swipe of a tongue across Ian’s collar bone woke him up next. He hummed sleepily and arched his neck in the opposite direction, giving Mickey more room to work.

“G’morning,” Ian grumbled as Mickey lightly sank his teeth into the skin right below the bone he was previously teasing.

“Hey,” Mickey murmured, barely taking his mouth away from his lover’s skin.

Mickey trailed his lips up Ian’s neck and ran a hard line against a vein in his neck with his tongue and Ian shivered.

“I did get you to come last night, right?” Ian grumbled with a light laugh as he felt Mickey straddle Ian’s lap again.

“Mhm,” Mickey murmured under the shell of his ear.

“And you want it again?” Ian asked.

“Your refractory period get longer since you got out, Gallagher?” Mickey grumbled.

“Fuck off,” Ian grinned, still refusing to open his eyes to see how much light (or how little) there was.

“But anyway, that’s not what I’m after…” Mickey mumbled.

“Oh? It sure as fuck seems like it…” he laughed, thrusting his hips up against Mickey’s to make his point.

“Your sister already tossed out the breakfast shit from this morning and I’m starving,” Mickey replied seriously. Ian furrowed his brows and finally opened his eyes to take in the sight of his boyfriend sitting up straight in his lap. Mickey looked dead serious.

“For fuckin real, Mickey?” Ian asked a little irritated. “I was  _ sleeping!” _

“Yeah, and I want fuckin pancakes.”

“You want —” Ian rolled his eyes heavenward and thrust his head back into his pillow, groaning in irritation. “You woke me up to make you pancakes?” He demanded.

“ _ Fuck no!  _ I woke you up to fuck me then go with me to get someone else to make us pancakes,” Mickey corrected. Ian’s brow arched and he snuck a peek at his boyfriend who was now slinking down his body, fingers inching to Ian’s still semi-hard dick.

“So you didn’t just tease me to wake me up?”

“You callin me a tease, Gallagher?” Mickey demanded, now at face level with Ian’s semi. Ian bit his lip as Mickey started doing just that: teasing.

“I’ll never put it past you,” Ian admitted, letting his eyes slide closed as that tongue once again made contact with his skin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I might come back and fill in the smut later, idk. It depends on if people want it I guess.


	9. 10x08

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is in no way to excuse Mickey's behavior or redeem him, but it is Mickey's POV and it is what I think happened next and how he felt.

Mickey couldn’t tell why he’d just done what he did. There was no excusing it, no justification… He’d just snapped.

Ian  _ once again  _ got his hopes up for more. He was finally happy and finally they were stable. Why did Ian have to go fucking with that with all this marriage talk if he didn’t actually want to do it? “Frank and Monica” Mickey’s  _ ass!  _ As though  _ his  _ parents were any better of an example to pump him up for the institution of marriage?!

But none of that excused the fact that he’d just punched the love of his life in the face and injured him further than wounded pride and a black eye.

Towering over his former partner, Mickey felt overwhelmed with too many emotions surging through him all at once: anger, shame, rage, hurt, despair, concern, love.

“Can you get up?” Mickey grumbled. Ian huffed on the ground, gritting his teeth if his clenched jaw was anything to judge by. Mickey reached out his hand, but almost took it back.

This hand carried a burden now. 

Mere minutes ago he’d freely signed his scrawling signature on that dotted fucking line, ready to be Ian Gallagher’s husband, even if he was being a pain in his ass at the moment. And mere minutes later this hand had turned into a weapon against him… the love of his life. 

Self-loathing coated over all the rest of the emotions raging through him. Accepting Ian’s freckled hand in his felt like fire, like making contact with that skin again reminded his body of what he’d just inflicted on that other skin.

Ian’s hand constricted around his, squeezing the knuckles until they screamed in protest. They had been throbbing ever since he’d hit him, but he’d barely felt it over the shattering of his heart. The redhead tried to get up, but as soon as he put any pressure on his left leg, it buckled beneath him and would have swept him right back down had Mickey not slammed his foot down on the step below them to catch Ian’s fall against his knee.

“Yeah… that’s fractured,” Ian grumbled irritably.

“Great,” Mickey grunted, helping Ian readjust on the stairs so he could sit in a comfortable position.

Mickey punched in the numbers for an ambulance,  _ 9-1-1. _

As he reported the accident, Mickey sought his formerly lit cigarette and was about to resume smoking it when he saw Ian’s judgemental face.

_ Fucking fucker.  _

He broke the cigarette in half and reached into his pack for another. The ambulance was on its way, the operator said.

“Please stay with me,” Ian blurted as soon as Mickey’s phone was away from his ear. Mickey turned back to look at him. Had he planned to leave? He wasn’t even sure.

“You actually want  _ me  _ to stay?” Mickey asked.

“I still want to talk about this, Mick,” Ian asserted. Mickey couldn’t help the sardonic smile.

“Right hook wasn’t talk enough for you?” Mickey asked cooly, though his insides churned at referring to his  _ assault  _ of Ian in such a cold and cruel manner. Ian’s green eyes glimmered as the late afternoon sun filtered into their little cave.

“I know you didn’t mean that.” Mickey looked to his shoes, shame heating his cheeks and making it impossible to look Ian in the eye anymore. “Mickey, I — ”

“I still did it, though!” Mickey interrupted. “And  _ you  _ clearly didn’t mean it when you said you wanted to marry me, so… what the fuck’re we even doin’ here?”

“I did!” Mickey’s face fell. “No! No, I mean I  _ do!  _ I really do I just…. We’ve never discussed what that would look like for us! Shouldn’t we know what to expect from each other if we’re going to do it?

“I expect for you to be with me and only me and follow the fuckin vows. That’s all I need to know. What more is there for you to know?” Mickey demanded, stepping back inside the cavern of stairs, towering over Ian again. But the position felt wrong… So wrong. He wasn’t a threat to Ian… He never was— 

Well, he usually wasn’t. 

Oh, God! The self-loathing was piling on and piling on as the inescapable truth that  _ he’d done this  _ dawned on him.

Ian had answered his question, and yet he hadn’t heard. And it didn’t matter.

“Maybe we shouldn’t be together…” Mickey sighed. Ian’s breath caught in his throat beside him and Mickey pulled out a smoke for Ian.

Just that morning they had planned to go get pancakes after spending an hour or so in bed together, smiling, laughing, kissing.

He couldn’t do that with him anymore. Things had changed.

“Mick, we love each other that’s  _ all that matters. _ We can get married or we can just stay as we are — partners — and it’ll be the same!”

“It’s not the same, not anymore. You saw how much I wanted it. We were fighting about murder in fuckin public and I  _ still  _ signed those papers! No hesitation! And then —”  _ and then I hit you…. _

“I don’t care about this, Mickey, I promise,” he blurted, looking to his leg for emphasis. “I love you and you love me and… And we’ll get past this somehow, okay? God knows I’ve had a punch coming for some of the shit I’ve —”

“No! No punches. You don’t hit your partners, Ian. Period.”

The ambulance pulled up.

“I’ll move my shit out soon. Just gotta find a place to go since home’s crowded.”

“Mick, no. Come on, be reasonable!”

“That’s exactly what I’m being. See you around, Gallagher.”


	10. 10x10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Adding what I believe was cut from Gallavich's scenes in 10x10

Ian's fingers tickled at Mickey's cheeks as they celebrated their small (or, maybe not so small?) victory. As they kissed, Ian's lips got a little sloppy from smiling so wide. Instead of breaking the kiss, Ian kissed Mickey's cheek and drew him in for an embrace, which Mickey fell into and returned easily. He'd missed these arms, these strong biceps that could easily bench Mickey's body weight, and yet always handled him with tenderness and care. The coos from their adoring audience were growing unbearable, though, and Mickey drew back from the embrace to meet Ian's bright smile with one of his own that could only be described as 'shy.'

"So where's my ring?" Mickey taunted, finally being able to breathe knowing his humor, for the first time in two weeks, would be _taken_ as a joke.

"You'll have to come home to claim it," Ian hinted, mouth quirked up on one side in a flirty smirk. Mickey nodded slowly, a sneaky smirk pulling at his lips on one side as well, a look Ian clearly liked from how he leaned in and kissed him once again.

"I love you," Ian murmured just loudly enough so Mickey could hear him over the music, but still low enough so it was private, "I really do, more than—"

"I mean it, you don't gotta get all sappy," Mickey laughed. Still, he flushed, returned his gaze to meet Ian's, and returned the sentiment with his own, "I love you too."

.....

Neither of the men bothered with apologizing to the men they'd assaulted. Hell, they didn't even acknowledge the men they'd assaulted. They simply left, Mickey explaining to Ian that he had a key to Byron's duplex and would return it tomorrow... or the next day when he went to collect his stuff. 

They laughed through the whole train ride home about Byron and Cole, swapping impressions of the other and stories.

"Yeah, it's safe to say _Bruno_ fuckin hated you," Ian said, but with less humor as opposed to irritation and even a stab of sadness. Mickey shrugged, not the least bit concerned or offended by the things Ian reported as having come from his ex-lay's mouth about him.

"Eh, it's not like I exactly put on the charm for him or anything. I uh..." He grinned at himself but otherwise stopped dead in his tracks.

"What?" Ian prompted. They arrived at their stop and, Mickey standing in the doorway to allow Ian a little extra time to hobble through the archway. Ian repeated his question once they were out of the train, starting their brief trek back to the Gallaghers'. "So, what were you laughing about?" Ian repeated when Mickey just continued laughing silently.

"I kinda... Kicked him out of his bed at his place..."

"Like... while you were sleeping?" Ian found this hard to believe because Mickey slept like the fucking dead.

"No, like... told him to crash on the floor because I was snagging the bed."

"Oh my God! Mickey!" Ian exclaimed in surprise and laughter.

"I didn't want to share a bed with a stranger! Gross! Remember how long it took for me to warm up to _us_ sharin?" Mickey pointed out. Ian could see what he was doing... Ian wouldn't be able to casually share a bed with anyone but Mickey either. He didn't even bother to correct Mickey's edited narrative of their bed-sharing, not wanting to unnecessarily open _that_ dark can of worms about Mickey's experience in the closet.

Instead, he stopped walking, demanding Mickey's attention. He stepped into Mickey's space, right there on the sidewalk and leaned into Mickey, capturing his lips in a surprise kiss. Mickey's lips spread beneath Ian's in what he knew was a smile as a slight hum also released from Mickey's chest.

"I missed you," Ian murmured as he retreated from their kiss. Mickey's cheeks twinged pink, though he said nothing. And he didn't have to say anything, Ian already knew Mickey'd missed him too. They smiled shyly at each other again and Ian was the first to resume their walk. They walked in silence for a few minutes but Ian could feel a darkness descending over them. When he turned his head to face Mickey, the other man was looking at him with something dark in his eyes, something sad. Mickey looked away and rubbed at the bridge of his nose with the side of his thumb, a nervous tic that prepared Ian for something upsetting.

"I uh... I guess I -- No, I know I owe you an apology for the leg."

"Oh! Oh... I mean... It's f—"

"Do _not_ say it's fine. It's not. I'm sorry, I shouldn't've hit you, I just... God." They stopped walking again and Ian's heart crumbled in his chest at the self-loathing scrawled across Mickey's face. "I was _so hurt_ and _pissed_ and just... You wouldn't let me leave and you asked for my thoughts and... that was all that I could think of was fuckin hitting something, but I didn't want to hit you I— I don't even know what I'm saying now."

"I'm not mad at you, Mickey," Ian promised.

"Great! That makes it okay," Mickey replied sharply, sarcasm darkening his tone. Ian's brows furrowed as his face twisted in reluctant agreement to Mickey's point. It wasn't okay... No matter how little Ian blamed him or how much he wasn't angry with him, it didn't change it. Mickey raised his thumb to rub at his bottom lip this time.

"I'm sorry, Ian," he murmured seriously, biting his lip for a brief moment as his eyes trailed from the boot encasing Ian's broken tibia up to his eyes. "I swear, nothing like that will _ever_ happen again. I swear." Ian raised his eyes to Mickey's, ensuring that there was no way for Mickey to doubt his words.

"I know. I wouldn't have chased after you like I did if I didn't know that and if I didn't think you were sorry. And... And I'm sorry, too." Mickey's brows furrowed as though saying _bitch for what?_ "For backing out, for... for not being ready when I thought I was ready, for not just _signing the fucking paperwork."_ Mickey bit his lip.

"You gonna back out again?" Mickey challenged.

"What? No! Hell no! I'm all in this time, I swear!" Mickey's eyes still held a little fear. "I realized... Even if the idea of 'marriage' scares me, I've known since we were fucking _kids_ that I want to spend the rest of my life with you. So... Let's get started on that, right?" Mickey couldn't help the huff of a laugh that burst from his chest.

"God, you really know how to turn on the cheese when you want to, huh Gallagher?"

"Oh yeah, who's taking whose name?" Mickey's eyes widened at the question, apparently the thought having never occurred to him.

.....

The engagement announcement went just about as anyone would expect.

Mickey declared, "We're gettin hitched!" over Ian's attempt at a smooth segue from Lip's news to theirs. Everyone was happy for them but the reactions were about as calm as one would expect considering all of the shit they'd recently put each other through. Ian'd simply laughed though and told his family he was turning in for the night before swinging over to the stairs where Mickey, always by his side, took the crutches so Ian could hop up the stairs. Mickey stayed one stair below him just in case he missed a step or decided that he needed extra assistance, but they were up the stairs in short enough time.

Once the door was closed behind them, Ian started to undress, Mickey following close behind snatching a kiss while they were at it. Mickey happily rode Ian into the mattress, the redhead sitting up against the wall, hands clutched to Mickey's hips and Mickey clutching himself to Ian's chest, his hands buried deep in Ian's hair and clenched tight around one shoulder. After they finished, Mickey's eye caught the glint of white gold on the windowsill and recognized the ring Ian had tried to gift him less than a week before. Ian turned to see what had Mickey's attention and grinned. Releasing one hand from Mickey's hip and still buried deep in his fiancee, he asked once again.

"Mikhailo Aleksandr Milkovich... Will you do me the honor of marrying me?"

Mickey didn't even roll his eyes this time, just smiled -- no, _beamed_ , and said "yes" as Ian pressed the ring on Mickey's left finger.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't forget to tip your fanfic writer! We accept kudos and constructive feedback <3


	11. 10x12--The move from the chair to the washer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What went down that made the Gallaghers shift Mickey from the chair to the washer? Well, it wasn't easy that's for sure.

It took Ian, Debbie, Sandy, and Carl all to get Mickey inside. He’d said he was done fighting… he lied.

Terry Milkovich was going to  _ die.  _ Today.

What would make a better wedding gift, after all?

So here Mickey was, hoisted onto all four shoulders, Carl clasping his arms around Mickey's legs and Ian cuffing one arm and using the other cuff to keep his arm pinned behind his back. It wasn’t the most uncomfortable situation Mickey had ever been in… but going up those steps like that definitely gave him a fuckin heart attack like he hadn’t experienced in  _ years.  _ Until he reached the stairs he tried to get down from the weird-ass hog-tie meets pedestal walk they had going on, but as soon as the back porch’s banister was in sight, Mickey suddenly lost all urge to fight. Ian may have tightened his grip at the base of his neck, but fuck-all that’d do if someone toppled him backward, feet over head.

Once they reached the kitchen, Mickey huffed a relieved breath and continued his rantings against Terry. As they ignored him, the Gallaghers at his feet set him down relatively gently, lowering to their knees to let him slide easily to the floor… Only to roughly sit him down in a kitchen chair which Ian attached the other cuff to... Fucker.

“Oh, like you don’t agree with me that Terry should fuckin die?” Mickey griped at no one in particular, desperate for any ally he could have. All Gallaghers and even his own cousin ignored him.

He glared at his fiancee who slapped the broken-down shotgun on the counter and watched with rising resentment as he silently made his way to the freezer. As his future siblings-in-law took deep breaths, recovering from carrying him up the stairs (over-dramatic pansies that they were, Mickey wasn’t that fuckin heavy), Mickey calculated the time it would take to reach the door considering the three Gallaghers, a Milkovich, and the fact that he was handcuffed to the further chair rather than his own, making his current seat yet another obstacle should he decide to make a break for it. 

Slightly startling him, his fiancee stuck a pack of frozen peas in his face. Mickey glared back up at him, accepting the pack for his throbbing eye… but he didn’t say thank you, and wouldn’t. He was in full-on pout mode, knew it, and didn’t give a shit.

“C’mon Mickey, you can’t murder your dad on our wedding day,” Ian sighed. He knew Ian hated it when he was upset with him… well too bad. He was upset. And no amount of sweet talk about their wedding day was going to get him out of it.

“You almost sounded convincing,” Mickey snarked, laying the pack against his eye. He knew Ian wasn’t into this wedding, just wanted them to be married and didn’t give two shits how they did it. The sweet-talk there was a total ploy and Ian wasn’t going to get away with it.

Ian rolled his eyes and clambered into the stool immediately across from him, draping a pack of what looked like frozen cut green beans over his arm where Mickey had bit him.

Again, he wouldn’t fuckin apologize for it.

He continued plotting how to get away while Strawberry Shortcake acted surprised that Terry Milkovich would do such a thing as burn down his son’s wedding venue. When Carl sat at the head of the table with a beer, though, it was entirely too easy to grab the opened bottle and chug. If they weren’t going to let him murder his dad then he’d get shit-faced drunk to commemorate the wedding day that should have been.

Carl gasped in annoyance at Mickey swiping his beer but Mickey ignored him like he’d ignored Mickey five minutes ago.

The Gallagher went back to the fridge, leaving Mickey to take three deep pulls from the glass. Midway through his drink he overheard Ian mutter, “We should just elope… Go to the courthouse. That’s what we should’ve done in the first place.”

_ Should’ve done _ …  _ fuck you, Ian!  _ Mickey griped internally, glaring heatedly at his jerk of a fiancee. Was it really too much to ask to have  _ something  _ conventional in his life?  _ Something  _ somewhat normal or traditional?

“Hell no!” Debbie cried. “And let hate win?” _God… how fuckin naive_ …

“Wake up, Little Mary Sunshine, hate always wins!” Mickey snarked irritably.

“Jesus, Gandhi, Martin Luther King...” She listed, as though her examples proved shit.

“Pretty sure one was crucified and the other two were shot.” Carl pointed out , sitting back down at the head of the table.

“Yeah, Hitler, Freddy Krueger, Darth Vader...” Mickey argued back as he watched Ian also snatch Carl’s beer from him. Still, the girl Gallagher was not in the mood for giving up.

“We still got the flowers, the booze, the DJ, and all that other shit, right?” 

“Uh, yeah, but no place to hold the wedding.” Sandy pointed out like it should be obvious… because it was.

“What about here?”  _ Hell no! _

“What, in the house?” Ian asked incredulously.

“Fuck that, how many people we got coming?” He blurted. And besides that,  _ no. _

“A hundred and twenty, not counting the local lowlifes who'll show up uninvited to get hammered.” 

“The Alibi?” Debbie suggested.

“It's a shithole!” Mickey declared like it was obvious — because, again, it was. “I don't wanna get married where my shoes stick to the floor!”

“Patsy's?” 

“Jesus, this is getting sadder and sadder,” Mickey murmured aggravatedly. Mickey actually felt his heart convulse at the thought, each suggestion hammering in deeper and deeper his hatred for his father for what he’d fucking done to them. “Why don't we just do it in the parking lot across the street from the poultry processing plant?” He asked sarcastically, actually daring to picture it. That was probably the only place they _could_ go at this point really.

“How about the park? Hmm?” Debbie offered, still undeterred.

“It's 40 degrees and supposed to snow.” Ian pointed out with exasperation. Jesus, Mickey could almost laugh at how ridiculous this whole thing was.

“Jesus! You two wanna help, maybe?” A flush of anger washed through him at her snark. 

“Yes, I wanna help. I wanna help by shoving the shotgun down my dad's throat and watching his spinal cord burst out his fuckin' back all over his kitchen wall!” The Gallaghers all paused to stare at him wide-eyed. Fuckin pansies. Well, except Ian who glared at him as though yelling at him to shut up. Mickey lifted his eyebrows back in a gesture that said “Yeah? Bring it bitch.” 

Sandy just gave him a sympathetic look, probably the only one here who truly knew what it felt like to want a family member dead. Debbie huffed out a breath and fixed a serious, authoritative look on her face.

“Everyone start calling around and find someplace that's big enough and can take us in a hurry.” 

“With what money?” Ian asked, defeated. “We spent it all on the Bamboo and flowers and shit.” Come to think of it… maybe that was a lot of money spent on something so simple…  _ No!  _ This was supposed to be _their_ _wedding_ _day_! Straight people got to get what they wanted on  _ their  _ marriage celebration, why shouldn’t they?!

“So, what, you're just gonna let Terry and his Nazis win?” Mickey arched a brow at the title. Quite apt... “Watch Paris burn? Let the Berlin Wall stand? Saigon fall?” Jesus, what a drama queen. Even Ian looked like he was two seconds from covering her mouth to shut her up. “Huh? Is that who we are?” 

“Yes!” Mickey shouted just to get the chick to shut up!

“No! We're Gallaghers!" She declared. Mickey rolled his eyes. If he heard _one more thing_ about the supposed Gallagher way Mickey was going to lose it. "If you're gonna be a part of this family, you better nut up. We're gonna white-trash this shit.” Mickey glared. Nut up? That was what he’d  _ tried  _ to do before! But  _ nooo his way _ was too hardcore for the Gallagher conscience.

Ian tried to meet Mickey’s eye but Mickey avoided looking at him.

“Mickey… We may as well try to find somewhere else,” Ian tried to reason.

“There ain’t gonna be anywhere else!” Mickey declared confidently. Ian lowered himself from his perch on the stool and took a seat across from him at the table.

“There’s no reason not to  _ try.” _

“Because it’s a  _ waste of time _ to try since there won’t be anywhere! But I know I can —”

“You’re not goin back to prison over that sack of shit, Mickey!” Ian shouted. Everyone in the kitchen paused and turned their attention to them. Mickey’s eyes softened a little as he realized what Ian was worried about… Worried about them being separated again, about Mickey fuckin up what little opportunities he still had at this point.  _ Oh, Gallagher… _

“You forget who you’re talkin to?” Mickey asked rhetorically.

“You were on your way to shoot a man in broad fuckin daylight,  _ you were going to get caught.”  _ Mickey’s glare maintained for a small moment, but eventually he had to look away, using a gulp from his beer as an excuse to avert his gaze. He knew Ian was right… He’d reacted without thinking and reacting without thinking was how stupid mistakes were made, how open-and-shut convictions happened.

“I’m gonna help them find a new venue. You gonna help?” Ian offered gently. Mickey shook his head defiantly. There was  _ no way  _ they were finding a last minute venue with  _ no money.  _ No. Way. So, no, fuck you very much, Mickey was not wasting his time. Mickey was gonna either do something productive, like kill his dad and dispose of his body, or he was gonna get shiftfaced. Ian sighed and stood from the table, clambering up the stairs to get his phone from the boys’ room where only half an hour ago they had been fooling around, high on the excitement for their big day. Mickey drained the last of his beer, heart tearing a little for the intense happiness he’d had… if only for ten minutes. 

Sure, they could go down to the courthouse, elope. But how fucked would it be that he’d had a  _ wedding  _ with someone he didn’t even give a shit about but  _ eloped  _ with the love of his life, the only person he’d ever entertained the concept of “forever” with? He and Ian deserved to have a wedding, a real celebration with friends and family to commemorate the kick-start of their legal marriage.

But once again Terry fuckin Milkovich couldn’t let Mickey be happy even just  _ once  _ in his life. 

As the Gallaghers milled through the kitchen, looking up venues to call on their phones Mickey grabbed the pack of peas to rest on his eye that had started to throb again. As he moved his hand, though… he realized… That chain. That chain would easily wrap around Terry’s neck… With the right amount of pressure, Mickey could easily cross his arms behind his neck… Either breaking it or even just strangling him. Either way, the deed would be done. All he’d have to do from there is yank teeth, burn finger prints, and get Sandy to help him with the body. Terry had so many enemies, cops wouldn’t think twice, would go round and round in circles for years trying to figure out who did it until they finally gave up — if they even tried at all. 

Mickey slowly dragged the chair out from the table and shifted to perch on the edge of the chair he was cuffed to… scooted the previously vacated seat under the table…

Wait for it…. Wait for it…

Debbie was behind the counter, Sandy by the washer, Carl by the fridge, Ian still upstairs…

He gripped the chair’s side with his cuffed hand and made a break for the door, uncuffed hand twisting the knob, throwing the door open wide. All three occupants of the kitchen screamed his name as he ran, charging down the stairs, keeping the chair high in the air to avoid tripping, but when he tried to turn the corner, the leg caught on the bannister giving Sandy time to catch up and wrap her arms around his chest, clamping his arms to his sides.

“For fuck’s sake, Sandy! You ‘f all people know that sonofabitch should —”

“Not today and not when when you have so much to lose!” Sandy grunted as she struggled to keep her arms latched around his chest. “A little  _ help?!”  _ She called to the gawking Gallaghers at the back door. He really wasn’t the type to hit women, but to make her let go he was about to kick her in the shin. He bent at the waist to toss her off but still had the chair in his way. He lifted the damn thing high in the air and was just about to slam it to the ground to shatter it when Ian-fuckin-Mountain Man-Gallagher appeared out of nowhere and once again clamped his arms to his side, wrapping his arms around Mickey’s whole torso. He squatted behind Mickey to get a better, lower grip and lifted.

“That  _ can’t  _ be good for your leg, Ian,” Mickey grumbled in between gasps for breath, Ian constricting his diaphragm too much to get a full breath in or out.

“You’re not really givin me a choice here, Mick,” Ian grunted as he lifted Mickey straight off the ground.

“For fuck’s  _ sake!”  _ Mickey groaned, cursing his shorter stature. He wanted to tear out of Ian’s grip but doing so might injure the already broken leg and even in his haze of anger he couldn’t do that to him. He already struggled with guilt looking at that boot every day, he couldn’t live with himself if he broke it again.

Sandy and Carl grabbed the chair and took the head as Ian carried Mickey back inside, Mickey cursing the whole way.

“Mickey! Stop. Fighting. Me!” Ian snapped as he set Mickey on the dining room table putting them at eye level. 

“Ian! Stop tryna stop me!” 

“You  _ want  _ to go back to prison?”

“I  _ want  _ that sonofabitch dead!” Mickey insisted.

“I get it, Mick! I do!”

“No! You don’t. If you did, you’d be offerin to help me not stoppin me!” He tried to hop off the table but Ian slammed a foot on the chair he was still cuffed to, halting any progress Mickey was going to make. Mickey tugged two hard tugs but the cuff dug into his wrist just enough that he winced. He turned back around to glare at his fiancee. Ian’s eyes were a mix of frustrated, exasperated, and sad.

“Please. Let me call the vendors to tell em not to bother with the Bamboo and help us find a new space. We can still get married today, like we  _ both  _ wanted.”

“You didn’t fuckin want this!” Mickey spat irritably. Ian sighed.

“I just want to marry you, Mickey. The details don’t matter to me, true, but I do want to marry you….” The fight went out of Mickey at Ian’s earnest tone, the sincerity in his eyes. He was sad that this happened too… “But I can’t  _ do  _ that if you go down for murder!”

“Well then I won’t go down for it, will I?” Mickey snarked. Ian heaved out a frustrated sigh and ran his hands down his face in exasperation. Just then, Mickey realized Ian was standing on his broken leg, using his good leg to hold the chair down.

“Get off your bum leg, Ian!” Mickey demanded. To anyone else it would have sounded like anger but Ian knew it was concern that made Mickey react like that.

“You gonna run away again?” Ian asked sternly. Mickey wasn’t going to lie. But Ian wasn’t going to get off his bad leg until he agreed to stop trying to kill Terry. He huffed a breath and gently, but firmly, removed Ian’s foot from the chair and resumed his seat, not releasing his glare but ready to concede for the time being so the giant ginger wouldn’t hurt himself.

Ian turned and grabbed his phone from the counter, immediately dialing. Next thing Mickey knew, Ian was handing him another beer with the cap already twisted off. This time he did thank him as he accepted it, sighing sadly.

“They’re gonna deliver everything here,” Ian announced to no one in particular.

“Is there room here?” Sandy asked, peeking up from her phone.

“Is or isn’t, it’s coming here since there’s nowhere else to put it yet,” Ian sighed. Sandy grimaced and returned to her phone, dialing after a couple more scrolls through her screen.

Second beer down and thinking clearly, Mickey was still determined to eviscerate Terry Milkovich. He saw Ian’s concern, he understood the risk and the fear of Mickey throwing away not only his future but their future. He did. But even if he and Ian got married at the courthouse that would still be reason enough to his homophobic Nazi father to kill them both. This was preemptive, proactive self-defense. That may not be a thing in the eye of the law, but it sure as hell was in the world of a Milkovich, and Mickey was still a Milkovich as of now whether he liked it or not.

A knock at the door alerted Ian away from his phone and he hobbled through the living room to answer it. The others were so consumed by their phones that Mickey saw this as another opportunity. This time, though, he slowly stood up… Making it look as casual as possible… That's right, he was gonna get another beer...

“Don’t even think about it!” Sandy snapped, phone to her ear and mouth drawn in a look of annoyed horror. Mickey burst to the door and once again ripped at the knob.

“IAN!” Sandy called, charging forward, dropping her phone onto the random machine behind her as she moved. This time the stupid fucking chair got caught on the doorjamb leading to the outside.

“FUCK!” Mickey exclaimed in irritation, surging forward, chair be damned and regretting it instantly as pain screamed from his wrist where the cuff practically dislocated the joint. Sandy took hold of the chair and pulled.

“OWWW!!” Mickey cried, following the direction of the chair to relieve the bite and pull.

“Goddammit, Mickey!” Ian gasped in yet more exasperation as he crouched down, ramming his shoulder against Mickey’s knees until he fell forward  _ right  _ into the perfect fucking fireman carry. The sensation of suddenly being thrust up away from the floor with only a shoulder supporting you by the fucking gut was  _ not  _ a pleasant one and while Mickey was wanting nothing more than to be put back down, he gripped at Ian’s shirt. For the first time in his life, Mickey saw what it was like to be six foot tall and he  _ did not  _ like the fucking feeling.

“IT’S NOT NATURAL FOR SOMEONE TO HAVE SUCH LONG FUCKIN LEGS!” Mickey roared in agitation, kicking at the air, trying to get down from over Ian’s shoulder as Sandy carried the chair he was still attached to and Ian carried him over to the washer machine.

“There, Sandy,” Ian ordered.

“What, where?” Mickey demanded, trying to figure out where to look to see what Ian was referring to. With some metallic chinks sounding and the pull of his arm up above his head Mickey realized what they were doing.

“No!” Mickey tugged his arm back and punched at Ian’s ass, trying to disarm him enough to slide from off his shoulder.

“Mickey! I’m not gonna let you do this!” Ian shouted with great aggravation. Disorienting him further, Ian whirled around and bent over once again to plant Mickey’s ass harshly against the cold metal top of the washer. Deftly, Sandy snatched the chain to Mickey’s side and clicked the other cuff in place through the wire shelf on the wall over the washer.

“Traiter,” Mickey practically growled to his cousin.

“It’s for your own good, cous,” she sighed dismissively, walking away to collect her phone and resume the conversation she’d abandoned to kidnap him again. Mickey was about to start yelling again when Ian planted both hands on either side of Mickey’s hips and stared him down, green to blue.

“Mickey!” Ian gasped exasperatedly.

“Ian!” Mickey returned, openly mocking him with his frustration.

“I get it, okay?! I do! I promise you I do! But you have  _ got  _ to calm down and think about the bigger picture! You get locked up again, where does that leave us? I’m waitin for you to get out and you won’t have  _ shit  _ to look forward to when you come back!  _ Any  _ opportunities you’ve got right now will be  _ gone!”  _ They’d talked at length about both of them going straight, keeping their noses clean. They’d decided together that they were going to do everything they could to build their life together the “right” way. Of course, that was hard for Mickey to stay true to considering he was still working with Terry, but of course that was all shot to fuckin shit now.

He knew Ian had a point. But… This was one thing he was not going to let go of. Terry Milkovich had gone way too far and made the point that he really never would allow Mickey to be happy. Ever.

“ _ Please. Please,  _ stop with the hit and just help me help us get married!”

“It’s not happenin today! You all are wasting your time!” Mickey insisted.

“Then just sit here and  _ don’t  _ commit any felonies!” Ian begged. Mickey glowered at his fiancee but lost much of his fight from the fear and worry in Ian’s eyes. It actually tugged at his heart seeing Ian so concerned... And he hated that he was the one making him feel that. Mickey squeezed the corners of his eyes with fingers from his uncuffed hand and sighed, still very much aggravated even if he was finally conceding. He returned his face to meet Ian's earnest gaze and hardened his expression, covering the plain _hurt_ pulsing through his chest. Mickey was fuckin hurt, he couldn't deny that and he couldn't hide that anymore, especially not from Ian. Ian understood him better than anyone and he knew, looking at the sympathy on his fiancee's face, that Ian understood that this situation was damn near physically painful for him.

Fine, if they wanted him to stay put then they'd have to get him liquored the fuck up to make him stay put.

“Then you better keep those beers comin ‘cuz if I’m not killin my dad then I need to be gettin shit-faced drunk or else I’m ripin this shelf right off the wall and takin all you out with it."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to @bi_bi_eli for talking through this scene with me <3


	12. 10x12 The Dance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After that emotional talk with Debbie how does Ian bounce back to dancing with his new husband?

His husband practically collapsed against him at the start of this ridiculously hetero song, but Mickey couldn't even tease him for it because he felt almost all of Ian's weight leaning against him. Oh shit.

"What's wrong?" Mickey asked gently, murmuring against his cheek as he wrapped his arms solidly around Ian's waist. Ian's breath whistled out just outside the shell of Mickey's ear as he huffed.

"Nothin'," Ian lied. Mickey groaned and then chuckled to spite both of them.

"Nothin' huh? Then what's this cuddle shit you got going on?" He started to back away, but Ian's arms tightened, keeping them chest to chest, even waist to waist. Point made. "What's wrong, Ian?" Mickey asked again, just as gentle as the first time.

"Just..." Ian pulled back the slightest bit and Mickey's breath caught in his throat... Tears. On their wedding day. Mickey wiped at the underside of Ian's eyes, clearing away all tangible signs of sadness. _No, baby, no... Not now._ "Monica would've loved this. I miss her." Mickey's heart thumped extra hard against his rib cage and he almost felt like a dick for not realizing it sooner. He cupped the side of Ian's face and made solid eye contact with his husband. Sometimes... there wasn't the right thing to say, but there was all you could say.

"I'm sorry, Ian." Ian nodded and pressed his forehead against Mickey's.

"I love you," he whispered gruffly through the clogged emotion in his chest and Mickey smiled.

"I love you too.... So much."

Ian curled an arm across Mickey's shoulders, pulling him even closer to him and Mickey kissed him chastely, hoping to give him some comfort.

"She probably would've started beating up on the owner to get us this space, probably best --" 

"Hey," Mickey interrupted. Ian's face fell a little. "Don't do that. You're allowed to want her here, you don't gotta put her down with hypotheticals." Ian's brows furrowed as though he didn't even realize that was what he was doing. "You're _allowed_ to want her here, Ian, Mickey repeated, ensuring that he heard him.

"Do you want your mom here?" Ian asked, throat slightly clogged with emotion. Mickey had to think about that for a second... but only a second. The rest of his silence was building up the courage to admit that yes, yes he would like for his mom to be here. Hell, he wished his dad was even a _fraction_ more accepting so he'd be here. But he had Sandy, and Mandy would end up calling soon and he'd visit Iggy and they'd all be excited for them and.... and that was enough. But still...

"Yeah. Yeah, I wish she could be here too."

"Think our moms would get along?" Ian asked, a playful smile on his lips. Mickey grinned wide.

"We could only fuckin hope, or else this place'd be in cinders too." Ian bursted into a fit of laughter and Mickey hugged Ian closer, loving the sound of that laugh, how it reverberated in his own chest. "I never knew Monica," Mickey reminded, "but from what I know of her... This would've been the best day of the year for her." Ian smiled but the smile quickly faltered as raw emotion -- pain-- dragged his expression down. Mickey lifted his forehead to once again meet Ian's and he let his husband have a moment to feel that grief, to acknowledge it before letting it go. He trailed his fingers up and down Ian's back in what he hoped was a soothing gesture and wiped gently at Ian's eyes once again with the other hand to keep his private emotional moment private.

"I love you," Ian repeated again.

"I love you too," Mickey murmured back. And they resumed their dance -- if an embrace with slight swaying could be considered a 'dance'.


	13. Finishing 10x12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Terry tried to ruin Ian and Mickey's honeymoon... Those stubborn fools would never allow that.

“I guess your dad is still a little upset,” Ian murmured as soon as Mickey rolled off him, feathers pluming up and around them as they each readjusted to their positions on the floor.

Mickey could only nod. He couldn’t deny that he’d somewhat expected this, though he’d hoped that Terry would either give up (un-fucking-likely) or they’d picked a motel far enough away (and nice enough) that he wouldn’t be able to guess where they’d gone. The fact that he was able to find them made Mickey wonder if it was that Terry had figured out where they were… or if he was just going around shooting up various suites at hotels hoping he eventually got the right one…

As it was he and his new husband were on the floor catching their breaths from the adrenaline rush that is being shot at through the window.

“Not even gonna ask how you knew that was going to happen,” Ian mumbled as he started to sit up.

“Be prepared, Cub Scout,” Mickey replied sarcastically. He was trying to keep it light, not wanting to ruin their honeymoon. It wasn’t really a “honeymoon,” per se… Mickey had booked a night in the honeymoon suite at some shitty motel about thirty minutes outside of Chicago, but it was _their_ honeymoon, dammit, and they were entitled to enjoying it!

Ian was sitting up shaking feathers and glass off of him when Mickey got an idea.

“Let’s see the bastard off,” Mickey declared, swinging a leg over Ian’s waist and planting himself happily over his lap. Ian laughed and clutched at Mickey’s bare ass, fingers digging in to his flesh as he grinned so broadly, so sensually that Mickey bit his own lip to conceal the full extent of how far his own smile wanted to reach.

“You want to fuck in the debris?” Ian asked for clarification.

“You said you wanted to go again,” Mickey reminded. “So let’s go again,” Mickey grinned, leaning forward to capture Ian’s lips in a kiss. Ian laughed into the gesture. His hands released Mickey's ass and trailed up his lower back to wrap around his waist, pulling him closer so they were chest to chest with no air between them. Mickey's arms were draped across Ian's shoulders as they kissed. Soon both of their breaths hitched and Mickey kissed his husband deeper turning his head so he could properly devour him. Mickey stirred between their bellies and Mickey instinctively pressed his hips forward, sighing at the sensual pressure. Ian's hands trailed back down to Mickey's hips and back down to his ass, but before he could start playing with him, Mickey broke the kiss, hands trailing over Ian's shoulders and down his chest. Slowly so as not to slice himself on any of the glass around them, Mickey moved himself down Ian's body; light tinkling sounds erupted in their quiet but Mickey never cried out from pain so Ian figured he was successfully avoiding the shards of glass as he lowered himself over Ian's waist, his hips, his legs... All the way down until Mickey was laying between Ian's spread legs. Ian couldn't contain his grin at the image and he bit his lip when Mickey wrapped a tattooed hand around his semi-erect cock.

"You sure you wanna stay down here?" Ian asked before Mickey got too far gone into the act. Mickey arched a brow. "You're not afraid of getting cut on the glass?"

"And waste Dad's wedding gift to us?" Mickey asked as though genuinely affronted, but his smirk contradicted the tone... Especially as he guided the head of Ian's cock to his lips where he so lightly kissed the tip. Ian blew out a quick breath as a light tremor worked its way from his groin to the pit of his stomach. Mickey grinned and circled the head with his tongue, mercifully with the flat of his tongue rather than only the tip. Mickey might've been a tease but he was clearly too eager to draw it out too much.

"You know there are probably some gifts that every newly-wed couple rejects... This can be ours," Ian suggested with a light chuckle. Mickey shook his head adamantly.

"No, this was special delivered and it would be rude to deny it." This time Mickey mouthed at the shaft, teasing the underside with short but strong strokes of his tongue. Ian couldn't keep his position sitting up, he damn near collapsed flat to the floor, catching himself up on his elbows.

"You're not gonna be so receptive to the gift when I've gotta dig shards of glass out of your knees later," Ian pointed out in a huff. Mickey considered that as he inhaled Ian's scent at the base of him. Ian groaned as Mickey buried his nose in the thick patch of red hair. They both loved when Mickey was able to take all of him and get down to the pubic hair... But again, clearly Mickey was too eager so this wasn't going to be one of those times where he fully luxuriated in it.

"Worth it." And he sank his mouth down over Ian's cock, tongue caressing the underside as he glided over his flesh. Ian groaned and watched with hungry eyes as Mickey set a pace, popping off every dozen or so strokes to mouth at the sides of him, being careful to give even attention to the bottom as the top. Every time Mickey went down on Ian he did it like he loved it, he practically worshipped his cock with his mouth and it was a heady as fuck feeling. There was a rumble deep in Ian's chest as he watched and it took all of his concentration not to thrust his hips forward into Mickey's eager mouth (though he had a suspicion that Mickey wouldn't have even minded). As it was, Ian laid flat on his back and fisted his own hair as he absorbed the sensations and he could swear the cocky bastard was grinning at him now... Ian peeled his head up off the floor and sure enough Mickey, even with his mouth full of cock, was fucking smirking around him.

"Oh, you're feeling pretty high 'n mighty right now, huh?" Ian laughed. Mickey ran his tongue up the entirety of Ian's shaft in a slow, strong stroke and Ian's eyes rolled to the back of his head.

"Maybe," Mickey murmured against the tip of him. Ian sat up straight at that, cock slapping against his stomach as Mickey let go, ready to receive whatever Ian was prepared to give. 

"You wanna stay in this mess?" Ian clarified.

"Call it added excitement," Mickey confirmed. Ian looked at the side of the bed where the skirt met the floor and found a spot clear of all debris. He stood, careful to only step where he and Mickey had lain to avoid glass, and pulled Mickey up from his knees on the floor. Cupping the back of Mickey's head with both hands, he pulled him in for a deep kiss and groaned at not only the kiss but also the sensation of his erection against Mickey's belly and Mickey's against his hip.

"Fuck," Ian breathed against Mickey's lips. Mickey grinned and waited for Ian's move. He turned Mickey around and guided his feet to the clear spot by the bed, Mickey placing his feet carefully. Once he was certain Mickey was placed in the right spot where he wouldn't get hurt, he flipped the top sheet on the mattress over and pushed just hard enough between Mickey's shoulder-blades to send his husband forward, laying flat against the mattress, bending over beautifully for him. Ian groaned at the vision and, feet planted firmly in place, he pressed his hips forward so Mickey could feel the thick of him against his ass. This time it was Mickey's turn to curse as Ian took his time with his teasing. He teased him until he heard Mickey's breath hitch and removed himself, lowering himself back to the floor. There was a thin line of glass shards in front of his knees and he hissed the smallest breath as the top of his foot made contact with a bit of glass, but he simply readjusted and returned his attention to the delectable ass in front of him.

He actually hummed a little at the sight. Mickey was already open for him, still plenty stretched from round one, and Ian had to control his own eagerness as he spread Mickey open. He heard Mickey groan ahead of him and ran his thumb near his opening, but not over it directly. Mickey huffed impatiently and Ian couldn't help but grin. Always so ready to get to it. Mickey might be good at teasing but he did not do well with being teased. He teased him by licking at his perineum ... but shifting to run his tongue down, away from the preferred destination. Mickey moaned all the same, hips shifting to give Ian easy access. He quickly wet his thumb with his mouth and as he teased at his balls, he teased Mickey's hole with the pad of his thumb.

"Ugh, Ian... C'mon, man, that ain't right..." Mickey groaned. Ian laughed right against the skin, knowing the vibrations would just drive Mickey more crazy.

He was cruel. He knew it, and he loved it. While he continued toying with Mickey's rim, switching between tongue and fingers, his left hand kept a consistent rhythm on Mickey's dick, ensuring he was at full hardness when he took him. Ian had no idea how long it took before Mickey started getting bossy, but he was surprised that it took a longer amount of time than Ian had expected.

"C'mon, man..." He refused to say please and Ian wasn't cruel enough to make him. He dove face first in to him and an absolutely sinful groan punched out of Mickey, driving Ian forward even more. Ian hadn't been able to properly rim Mickey since one night after Lip and Tami got their RV and all the Gallaghers were randomly scattered to the winds. At home they had to be quick and quiet and this was an act that Ian took great pride in doing thoroughly, so it was an uncommon treat. Ian's hands trailed from cupping Mickey's ass to caressing his waist and he smiled when Mickey's left hand reached back to grab hold of Ian's. Ian groaned one more time into his partner's skin, eliciting a longer groan from Mickey, and retreated, kissing him quickly on the right cheek before standing. Mickey let go of Ian's hand and propped himself up on both forearms, looking back over his shoulder to watch as Ian grabbed the lube from the bedside table.

Mickey sighed as though blissed the fuck out when Ian entered him with two lubed fingers, his head drooping between his shoulders as he pressed back to deepen the connection. Ian slipped in so easily he quickly added the third finger, feeling slight resistance and letting Mickey take the reigns by pressing back at his own speed. Watching Mickey take control like that always went straight to Ian's dick... There was just something about how Mickey demanded nothing less than exactly what he wanted in bed that was so fucking sexy... There was also something about the way Mickey refused to be a pillow princess that was... _Fuck_... Their sex life was always about give and take, an even exchange of effort to satisfy their partner and themselves. And as sexy as it was to see him do that on his fingers, watching him work himself back on Ian's dick... It was something else entirely. Ian couldn't help but let out a deep, primal groan. He didn't even have to move his hips to propel them forward, Mickey had taken control. 

Propped up on his forearms, Mickey was bent at a near perfect 90 degree angle and Ian knew he wouldn't be able to support that for long, but for the time being, Mickey was proudly and excitedly in the driver's seat. 

With each time they were fully connected Mickey let out a satisfied sigh which put a bright smile on Ian's face. He would bet every dollar he had that Mickey's brows were furrowed in concentration and that his mouth was slacked open from pleasure. Ian loved not only watching him, but loved hearing him... Sometimes he moaned like a goddamn pornstar and sometimes he just gave little breathy sighs; Ian's favorite was when he was able to get him to release a long, drawn-out noise somewhere between a moan and a whine. To put it simply, Ian fucking loved everything about being with Mickey like this. Mickey beat his fist against the mattress and pushed back harder than before, slowly sinking his upper body to the mattress with his ass still perfectly arched up to meet Ian. It was at this point that Ian took over the pace, speeding up ever so slightly. Mickey tilted his hips to give him a better angle and looked over his shoulder at Ian as he thoroughly loved him.

"You good?" Ian asked. Mickey's half-lidded eye opened wide at the question.

"Fuckin perfect," Mickey replied like a promise, shaking his head as he exhaled sharply. Ian beamed and lay a gentle hand on the small of Mickey's back, right above his dimples. With his other hand, he cupped his hip, propping him up to support the added speed and power behind his thrusts. Ian didn't know how he fucking did it... But even as Mickey surrendered to him, he still managed to push his hips back to maintain his active participation in their act. 

A light sheen of sweat started beading at Ian's forehead and shoulders, and he could feel the start to perspiration against Mickey's back as well.

"Mick..." Ian groaned with a slight shift in his hip's angle, sending him right up against Mickey's prostate. The resulting moan that burst from Mickey's chest shot liquid pride through Ian's veins. "Mick, I wanna see you," Ian panted.

"Fuck, Ian, now?" Mickey complained, pressing back up so he could turn to look at Ian. Ian shrugged like saying, 'yeah, now. And I'm not apologizing for it.' "I swear to God you choose the most random times to get fuckin sentimental while we're fucking," Mickey groaned irritably. Ian laughed and retreated, pulling the sheets the rest of the way off the bed so Mickey could have a completely cleared surface to lay back against. Mickey turned around in a flash and crashed his lips to Ian's, bringing him back with him as he collapsed back on the bed, legs spreading in a practiced, fluid motion. They both grinned as Ian caught himself on the palms of his hands to avoid landing flat on Mickey. He shuffled his feet forward just a tad, grateful when his toes didn't come into contact with anything sharp.

Mickey wrapped his legs around Ian's waist and reached down to position Ian right where he wanted him, Ian pushing forward and fucking _loving_ the almost shocked expression on Mickey's face as he entered him again. His mouth went slack, his brows shot up, and his eyes closed almost as though in relief. Ian kissed Mickey's chest and snapped his hips forward again and again, resetting the rhythm he'd created before. Mickey used the new positioning to experiment with angles, tilting his own hips forward and to the slight right, using the heel of his foot to continue propelling Ian forward. His hands clutched at Ian's shoulders as they worked together to find that ideal spot for Mickey, and once they found it... _oh...._

Ian might have actually described the noise bursting from Mickey as an actual _cry._

"That good?" Ian checked. Mickey could only nod, but he nodded exuberantly. Ian kissed at Mickey's neck in lieu of saying "good" or some other meaningless sentiment. With the sweat on Mickey's back he started sliding up the mattress so Ian grabbed Mickey's thigh and stood as he moved. Mickey's fingers dragged down Ian's arms as he stood and gripped his forearms as Ian held Mickey by both thighs.

Mickey's eyes fluttered open and seemed to watch in fascination as Ian thrust into him with steady and purposeful strokes. With another tilt of his hips he helped Ian find his prostate and collapsed his head back to the mattress as he let out a breathy groan, smile ripping at either side of his lips.

"Just keep goin right there, man," Mickey breathed in a rush. Ian nodded though Mickey's eyes were closed again. Every other stroke or so Mickey's walls contracted around him and Ian huffed out sighs of his own at not only the added pressure but the rhythm of it. He pulled Mickey's legs so the older man's calves draped over Ian's shoulders as Ian leaned forward to give himself more leverage for hard, quick thrusts right where Mickey wanted him. Both sets of fists twisted in the material of the mattress as they writhed and soared together. 

Mickey's orgasm hit unexpectedly and the resulting, drawn out cry from him, as well as the tightening of his walls around him, sent Ian over the edge almost immediately after.

Mickey held Ian tight in his arms as they caught their breath, kissing his forehead intermittently and running his fingers across his shoulders and up into his hair.

"Added excitement... Works for us, huh?" Ian breathed with a little laugh. Mickey snorted at the stupid joke.

"Just didn't want that prick to fuck anything up for us, no matter how hard he tried." Ian pulled up on his forearms so he could look in Mickey's eyes. Despite the post-coital glow, his eyes looked a little sad.

"Hey... Talk to me," Ian murmured. Mickey shook his head and looked down to where they were still connected. Ian ran a tender hand through Mickey's slightly dampened hair as he waited for Mickey to say something. When he didn't, he decided to change the subject. "Sure just made some good memories, huh?" Mickey smirked and tilted his hips up, further pressing his semi-erect dick and ejaculate against Ian's stomach. Ian laughed at the strange feeling of the stuff spreading between their bellies and kissed Mickey chastely before pulling back to stand and slowly ease out of his husband.

"Well, hopefully this is a good indication that the married life won't fuck with our sex life like everyone always says," Mickey huffed. Ian scoffed.

"You were ever concerned about that?" Mickey arched a brow at him, giving him that look he always gave when he was calling Ian an idiot with his eyes.

"Fuck no. I'm just sayin now we got proof that it ain't gonna happen to us." Ian nodded and grinned. Mickey rolled over to the other side of the bed to stand on the mostly debris-free floor.

"We can kiss that deposit goodbye..." Mickey mumbled irritably as he took in the disaster that was the honeymoon suite. Ian blew out an awkward breath in agreement, also assessing the damage.

"Cut our losses and ditch?" Mickey suggested. Ian grinned conspiratorially and leaped out of the circle of destruction by the demolished window. Mickey tossed Ian a pair of jeans and teeshirt from the overnight bag which Liam had thought to pack for them.

"This place took cash, right?" Ian asked, pulling the denim up his bare legs, not even bothering with boxers.

"Yeah, so that deposit is fucked but... I'll consider it a tip for dealing with this bullshit," Mickey threw out, zipping up his own jeans.

Mickey carefully packed their jackets, shirts, and slacks in the overnight bag and quickly pulled on the tennis shoes Liam packed.

"Kinda crazy that no one's been by to check on the noise," Ian remarked as he tucked their dress shoes into the side pocket of the bag. Mickey shrugged.

"This place is a piece of shit, you really think this is their first shoot-out?" Ian recalled the bullet-proof glass screen wrapped around the "front desk" of the motel and shrugged, deciding Mickey was probably right. Still, when Mickey pointed out that they'd probably want to go out the window Ian was skeptical. "I said it was a piece of shit not that they wouldn't try to foot us with the bill for the damage," Mickey argued. And so Mickey broke out the rest of the window and, with a little help from the ginger giant that was his husband, slid through the window and down to the grass outside.

If it's true that the wedding and honeymoon supposedly set up the precedent for marriage, Ian and Mickey had a very interesting married life ahead of them.

**Author's Note:**

> Please remember to tip your fic writer! We accept kudos and constructive comments <3


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